Schizotypal Is More Than Just A Funny Word


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My only real goal with this party, this project, is friendship.  I don’t have a lot of real solid friendship and I’m lonely.  Very, very lonely.  In fact, I’ve brought those in my head back to me so that I’m not always so alone.  Sometimes they help, sometimes they just show me how alone I really am.  Only there in my head, never out.

But yes, this #GeekParty is about friendship.  Not just for me, bot for others who enjoy geekism.  Whether it be gaming or comic books, music or Doctor Who, who really cares?  Geekdom isn’t about what you enjoy, but how you enjoy it.  It is a passion.  A PASSION!  And I’m filled with a passion in most everything I bother to do.  If I’m going to do it, I’m going to do it with all of me.  Enjoy it with all of me.  And that’s Geekdom.  And we’re proud.

So #GeekParty is pulling those of us who have passion for ANYTHING together so we can enjoy each other and talk about what we enjoy.

And last week it exploded.  Locally anyway.  I talk a lot and as a result it started trending in Ohio.  And that is awesome.  Because not only is that new friendship, but that is new friendship near me.  Where maybe I can work towards a friendship that doesn’t involving hiding behind the internet.  I’d love that.

Because that is what I need so desperately right now.

So please join us, tonight, at the 3rd #GeekParty.  Everyone is welcome.  Everyone is encouraged.  It starts at 8PM EST and runs until the last person leaves.  Come early.  Come late.  Just please consider stopping by.  You never know who you’ll meet and what you’ll find yourself talking about.

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People come in and out.  Not really there.  Only in my head.  With personality, plot, conversation.  You’ll hear me talking to myself.  Low mutters.  You won’t be able to make out what I’m saying, but you’ll hear me.  Talking to myself.  But really, I’m talking to them.  I know they aren’t real.  I know they aren’t there.  I can control them until my story gets away from me.  But then I can reset.  I can decide I don’t like where my inner plot is going and I can turn it on its heels.  And it’s been called different things.  My first mental health hospital stay, based off what little I would say, they called it Schizotypal.  Fanciful thinking.  Magic thinking.  Later my meds doc would call it a coping mechanism.  As long as it was helping, not hurting, we don’t prevent it.  But 20 plus years now my closest friends, my most trusted companions, have only been in my head.  And I can’t help but wonder, when do I lose control?  When do I lose touch with reality?  With the reality that they aren’t real.  Aren’t there.

Please don’t see this as a sign of trouble.  Those who need to know, know.  Those who see me daily will watch for it to change, morph, into something more.  So now I ride it out.  I’m still stable.  This has been a constant for most of 20 years.  It has never been a problem.  In fact, usually, it’s the cure.  It just gets so very old sometimes.

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My schizotypal is back in full force.  As strong as ever.  I don’t know if it’s because I’ve been off the medication that suppressed it, or if I’m feeling lonelier, or what.  I’d imagine, if anything, it would be a combination of the two.  But, I don’t really, conscientiously, feel very lonely.  If anything, as I’ve added activity both socially and solo to my life, I’ve felt less alone.  I’ve been very very full and fulfilled.  But none-the-less there are people and plot in my head.  I still have as much control as I ever have.  I can’t make myself make them go away, but I’m in control of all that carries on inside my head as far as they are concerned.  So nothing has gotten worse than it was, it’s just back.

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House

Well, we were in contract.  Papers were to be signed on the 29th.  Keys were to be handed over.  Then the bank that was selling, since it was a foreclosure, made a rather large change to the deal, and we said “hell no” and now there is no house.

There was a significant amount of panic.  Along the lines of “Oh shit, we have to be out of here the day after Sammy turns 1.  That’s in less than 3 months, where the hell are we going to live?”

Then Pat called the rental office and spoke to the girl we’ve been working with since day 1 before we even moved in.  They aren’t giving us the boot on August 31st, like we had previously been told.  Granted, with the household head count they aren’t encouraging us to spend forever here.  But they know our situation and we as tenants have given them every reason to be patient with us.

We aren’t signing a year lease.  We are going to live here one month at a time.  We are also looking for another house.  Our house.  Our house we will die in, and pass to our children.  I will be buried in the backyard.  Well, I’ll be planted in the backyard.  As a tree.  My grand kids can plan an entire garden around me.

Pat and I are shopping mortgages.  There is a plan for the 10% down payment.  This will work.  We just have to see what we are pre-approved for, find the house, make our offer, and go from there.

I think I’m actually less stressed right now not having a clue where we will be living a year from now, than I was while in contract with that house.  It had a lot of good in it.  But it was also really broken.  So much energy was going into fixing it.  And it would have been a good house.  It would have been worth it.  But for once I have a weight off my shoulders.  Instead of continuing to try and fix a really broken house, we are admitting defeat and going with plan D.  Or whatever the hell letter we are on.

 

Luke

Luke had his first appointment with his psychiatrist Tuesday.  This was after my solo meeting with her a few weeks back.  She does agree we are probably looking at ADHD.  The full diagnosis will unfold with time and in this case, medication attempts.  (One of the best ways to confirm a diagnosis of ADHD is to medicate it and see what happens.)

He has started a medication.  I’m not going to discuss what.  Nothing hard-core since he is only 4, but I don’t really feel like discussing what medication I agreed to put my 4-year-old on.  Kids on meds is too heated of a topic.  I did what was right for my kid.  Just as I’ve known meds aren’t right for his older brother.

I think the bottom line of the kids and meds discussion needs to be that it’s a decision made on a kid-by-kid basis with risks and benefits taken into account.  I don’t agree with throwing a pill at the first side of a problem.  But I don’t agree with letting a kid and family suffer because of a refusal to medicate.  And we were all of us, Lucas included, suffering.

Anyway.  As we all know, this is a hell of a process.  Trying something.  Messing with dosage.  Trying something new.  We are on the very first step of the process.  I’ll let you know how it goes.

I’m also in the throws of the preschool process.  Most the people I’ve spoken to previously, said nothing could be done until June.  It’s June.  One application has been filled out.  The rest are incoming.  Oy the preschool process.

 

Thomas

Thomas is at an in between.  With no real diagnosis in his immediate future, we are just riding the therapy wave.  I’m really curious to see how TK’s behavior morphs as Luke’s treatment sets in.  Luke is such a catalyst to us all, sometimes it’s really hard to know what’s our own personal mental health issue and what’s Luke bleeding over.

Which isn’t to say that on his own, Thomas is a perfect angle.  But without Lucas starting something every 50 seconds, Thomas might well even out some.  And it will be much easier to determine what exactly is Thomas, and then we can therapy and treat that.  It isn’t fair to Thomas, to have his therapy be surviving Luke 101.

 

Dad

Has pushed back his move date about 12 times now.  I have a theory that in 50 years if they go to tear this place down, they’ll find him crouching in a corner muttering something about storms, finances, banks, and the stock market.  Just a theory but a solid one I do think.  I don’t really want to talk about it much beyond that.

Or maybe I do.

I don’t like that we are kicking him out.  I don’t like that he is going to be homeless once he leaves.  But I don’t like the position he puts me in every damn day.  I don’t like having to make the decision to do right by my kids or my father and it can never seem to be both.  It took me 4 years to realize that in finally choosing to do right by my kids, I’m not in fact a bad person.  I have done everything I could for my father.  More than I should have had to.  I simply can’t do anything more.

 

Pat

Pat and I are ok.  I think we’ll be better once the above stresses level out some.  But I don’t wake up fearing that, that will be the day he walks out.  I know he loves me.  I know we’re a team.  And he seems to know this past week was totally fueled by PMS.  Hopefully he’s grateful that PMS means we aren’t bringing another baby into this equation.

I feel even as we bicker and I go to bed early some nights because I’m fed up with the day, that we are ok.  I feel that our relationship is solid enough that we can hold hands and hunker down together through life, no matter what it tosses our way.

I also really appreciate all that he does for us and knowing that I have such a strong player on my team.

 

Sammy

Sammy is Sammy.  She is amazing.  Beautiful.  Spunky.  Full of personality and love.  She is learning to pull herself up onto her feet but unsure what to do once up.  She has 2 teeth in.  She is insulted when her meal comes from a jar and wants part of what everyone else is eating.

I wouldn’t change a thing about her.  Though I am sad to see her baby days flying by.  As excited as I am to see who she grows into, I’m not in a huge rush.  This is my last baby, and I’m enjoying every minute of her first few years.  Then she’ll turn 3 and she is so her daddy’s problem.

I jest.  Maybe.  I’ll let you know when she’s 3.

 

Work

I don’t know if I’m full-time.  I applied and have hit the interview phase, but my boss has been on vacation all this week.  I imagine interviews will start next week.  I know of at least one other person who is for sure applying.  She hopes to have the spot filled by July.  So I imagine I’ll know by July.

I’m in the most weirdly laid back place regarding this. I don’t feel that I have to OMG get this promotion or my family won’t survive.  Yeah, it would be nice, but the most basic needs are being met.  I’m mostly excited that this will let me advance my career and have those extra 15 hours a week out of the house.  The extra money is just gravy.

Pat, I’m sure, would argue it to be very important gravy.  And yeah ok it is.  But I find this laid back attitude to be helpful.  It allows me to not stress over this.  I feel I have enough to stress about.  (See above)  So one less thing, is really nice.  Promotion or no promotion work is going great and it’s really the only thing in my life not stressing me out.

 

Me

I’m surviving.  Some nights I survive by crashing when the baby does so that I can just be done with the day.  I’m maybe a touch depressed.  But I’m so stressed by all the plates I have in the air, it’s hard to feel I’m not justified in being depressed.  I’m not choosing to medicate it.  Not yet anyway.  I’m not suicidal and usually not homicidal.  I’m functioning.  I can get up and go to work without crying over it.  I don’t even cry when it’s time to go home.

And as I see most everyone around me overwhelmed with stress right now, I think that I’m really just 1 in the crowd.  Something’s in the air.  So if I’m patient and just keep doing what I have to do to get through this.  I’ll be ok.

I have 4 folders in front of me which hold 4 of the plates in the air.

  • 1 is the house folder.  While Pat is doing the majority of the mortgage shopping, I’m talking to my company’s mortgage department for the 2 of us since I am the employee.
  • 1 is the Lucas folder where I’m tracking his diagnostic developments and his medication process.  I’m also tracking the process of getting him in preschool this fall.  This is a thick folder
  • The Thomas folder is sitting untouched recently.  As we ride the wave, there isn’t much to add at the moment
  • The final is my personal folder where I’m tracking things I need to track, mostly for my career as mommy.  This folder is new.  I’m not sure what all will end up there.

I guess with my OCD approach I’m allowing myself to approach this systematically so that I’m less likely to forget some detail or get overwhelmed by all that there is.  One folder at a time.

My therapy is drawing to an end.  I haven’t been cut loose yet.  We are mostly just looking to see where the next few weeks land me.  There isn’t anything scheduled but I know I can pick up the phone and make an appointment anytime.  And I think that’s exactly where I need to be therapy wise.  Unless my therapist can secure me a mortgage offer or find me a house, there isn’t really much therapy can take care of.  These aren’t mental issues I’m working through.  And all things considered I’m not doing too horrible of a job working through the life issues.  And therapy these days has just become rehashing the same topics.  Not solving, just updating.

I am looking to have Schizotypal added to my chart.  Not because it’s something I need to have treated now, but this way should it develop into something more in the future, the history of where it began is on record.

 

I suppose that is everything.  I suppose that is enough.

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At this time, we are NOT stopping my appointments with my therapist and my psychiatrist.  We just took me of meds, life is a changing… ending those appointments would be dumb.  But they are being scaled back.  My meds appointments are in off-meds maintenance mode, I see her every other month.  Therapy is headed that way as well.

And someday, if after I don’t know how long, I continue to be in remission or even better they will be scaled back more.  And then some day after that, they will stop.  Because if I’m no longer showing signs of BPD, I’m no longer a danger to myself, I’m no longer on meds that need a script and maintenance visits, there will come a time where those appointments will just simply no longer be needed.

When?  I don’t know.  But that day is coming.

And hopefully it will be followed by a life of me never needing there services again.  But I can’t guarantee that.  No one can.  So I have to have a plan in place for should the need arrive and I need help fast.  Will there be a waiting list?  Depends on how much time has passed and how full their schedules are.  Also, I imagine, how bad of shape I’m in.  So I need to have the option of going to a general physician, sitting down and going, “Hey I know you aren’t equipped to treat BPD, but let’s start with the depression until I can get into someone who can take care of the rest.”

I also have to keep in the back of my mind that I am on the Schizophrenic spectrum.  I’m way down low at Schizotypal, but it can be progressive.  I in fact found out recently that my father has known about being Schizophrenic for a decade, whereas I could only assume he was.  I won’t start down THAT bitter path, but I do have to face facts that however large or small the chances, I may have worse than depression caused by a miserable pregnancy and sciatica in my future.

I need a medical team I can rely on and can only hope I don’t ever need to.  Not like I have needed to in the past.

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I’m sitting here, the only one awake in the house. Earbuds plugged into my left year, right free so I can listen for kid. I keep hearing voices in my right ear. Voices that in no way sync up to the music in my left. I take the sole earbud out, silence. I listen for awhile. Silence. I shrug, put the ear bud back, the voices come back. The primary one being what I can only describe as a man cackling. Not something heard in this neighborhood. The rest is just non-descriptive babble.

And I know it’s nothing. But…

I can’t help but know Schizophrenia runs in the family (Hi Daddy!) I can’t help but know that with me being Schizotypal I have a 10-20% chance of becoming Schizophrenic.

But I’m just freaking out, right?

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My schizotypal has all but disappeared in the past few weeks. I’m not sure what’s to blame. I’m not sure blame is even the best word to use. It had decreased dramatically with the introduction of the anti-psychotic into my system.

It’s weird because my impulse when I walk down the stairs to the basement (my bedroom) or walk out to my car from the store I work at, is to be greeted by one or more of “them”. But lately I’ve been able to shrug it off because I don’t seem to need them anymore.

Am I feeling less alone?

More confident in myself?

Are my meds just working overtime to squelch that part of myself.

I’m not really sure what it is. Maybe a combination of two or three of those things. Maybe there is a fourth I haven’t even thought of.

I can’t say that I really miss them. If anything I feel relief to be that much closer to normal. One less part of myself to hide.

And it is something I hide. In recent years I’ve been more open to discussing it. I came out of the closet about it so to speak. I defined it to Patrick, Andrew and my doctors. I later posted it on here where it’s open for the world to read. But I still hide it. I don’t announce to people when someone they can’t see, a figment of my imagination, is in the room. I don’t share the conversations I have with “them”. I created myself a little fantasy world. Where I’m safe and perfect. A world that I’ve never shared the details of to anyone. Delusions of grandeur I’ll admit to. But what those grand delusions are, are my secret to keep.

Bottom line, it’s embarrassing. And now I don’t have to deal with it anymore. How long that anymore will last, I don’t know. Till I’m off the meds. Till I need the added friendship. Till I’m feeling less secure. I don’t know. But for now, I’m just grateful that it’s gone.

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