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STRESS and Grief: Happy Birthday To Me November 27, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Delusions, Psychosis, Stress, Therapy, mental illness.
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Initially, I was depressed about my upcoming 50th birthday (see blog entry My (Fake) Funeral), but not for the usual reasons.  Rather than a celebration of my birth, I wanted to hold a funeral to grieve the part of me that died when I became mentally ill.

When mental illness claimed my mind, it killed a part of me. While I realize that nobody is the same from year to year, my extreme mental changes came from mental illness, first by the psychosis that literally edged me out of my own mind, and then by the drugs that made the voices go away and brought the mental illness more or less under control in part by stripping me of my identity. The core part of my being- my mind- had been altered in a fundamental way. With those changes went my sense of self. I was lost.

But with my counselor/therapist’s recent assistance, I’ve made tremendous strides to integrate my old self with my new self.  We have been working- she and I- on this integration for several months now, ramping up the effort of late in anticipation of the fallout of mental illness symptoms if we couldn’t get some fundamental building blocks in place to fortify my mind from the meltdown.

The way it works with mental illness, at least with me,  is that my mental illness is on one side of the scales, and medication and therapy on the other side. In a perfect world, the two sides balance each other out, and I’m kept in a relatively “stable” state. But the balance is precarious, and the scales can tip easily from the “neutral” position into manifested mental illness symptoms such as, for me, psychosis. The trigger for my illness is STRESS. Any kind of stress, good or bad, has the same effect: off I go into psychotic oblivion to a greater or lesser extent, depending on the amount of stress.

The fact that I have been able to realize this in myself is due in a large measure to a great therapist and to a lesser degree a lot of hard work on my part. Now that I understand the enormous role that stress plays on my mental well-being, and how a minor or major dose of it destabilizes me,  I am learning to anticipate and address those events that will trigger the stress.

The blog entry about my funeral, planned out to the very last detail, was part of my therapy. Designed to acknowledge the real loss of a large part of who I used to be, it allowed me to mentally play out the grieving process in a physical way, and to come to terms with acknowledging that grief in a very public fashion, complete with the black clothes and even an obituary. Taking me through that grieving process, holding my hand (figuratively) allowed us – my therapist and me- to enter that scary room of grief together and allowed me to look that grief squarely in the eye.

Allowing the grief to wash over me, and even embracing that grief, gave me the strength and knowledge I needed to come to terms with that grief, thus dissipating some of the fear that it would and already had consumed me. Dissipating the grief also dissipated the stress, like pushing a pressure relief valve allowed the steam that would burn my skin to safely vent into the atmosphere without harming me.

With my therapist’s help, I pushed past the grief, more or less, arriving on the other side without caving into either a minor or major full-blown episode of mania or psychosis. At least for now, my sanity- such as it is- is safe. That’s what a lot of hard work and a good therapist can do.  Happy Birthday To Me!

The Voices Are GONE! November 22, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Hallucinations, Hearing Voices, mental illness.
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When the voices leave, it feels soooo good.

Part of the relief comes from the very fact that I don’t have to bring in the heavy artillery like a return to the mental hospital or electroshock therapy to show them the exit door. I don’t have to wonder what sort of steps we’re (my psychiatrist and I) going to have to take, beyond my current medication, to make them go away.

I don’t have to revisit that horrible, awful, nasty drug, Haldol to get rid of them. The nastiest drug on the planet in many respects, but at least it works. For me.  I don’t have to put up with the crying jags or suicide thoughts the drug engenders in me in the major doses I need in order to get rid of them. At least for now, Haldol and I are distant enemies.

No wondering whether we can even find a drug or procedure that will get rid of them. No more wondering whether I will have to suffer their existence forever.

When the voices are around, it’s as if there are two of us (or more) inhabiting my mind. There are my own thoughts, and then there are the thoughts of my- for lack of a better word- “guest”, swirling around in the confines of my mind. Like an unwanted visitor, they follow me around and get in my way. I trip over them as I do my various tasks. Answering the phone: there they are, interrupting my conversation with whoever’s on the phone with me. Loading the dishes: there they are in a different capacity, verbalizing and echoing my every thought. Everywhere I turn, they’re sharing the space of my mind with me, crowding me out little by little.  And no matter how hard I try, I can’t get rid of them.

It doesn’t take long, to even get used to having them around, especially when I spent months with them before I was finally hospitalized. “It’s really not so bad”, I kid myself.

By crowding me out, I mean that they take over more and more of my mind.  Increasingly louder and more prolific, they start acquiring more of the real estate of my mind than Donald Trump on a buying spree. Like a cancer, they leave me less and less of myself as their girth expands.

When they leave, I am thrilled. Like someone finally rid of unwanted guests, I roam around the recesses of my mind, looking for any sign that they haven’t left. I look in the bedroom. The living room. The bathroom. Is there one stitch of clothing left? A perfume bottle? Shampoo? Have they really gone, or are they just hiding from me, hoping I wont’ notice they’re still around?

And once I can confirm they’re really and truly gone, I twirl around my mind like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music, thrilled at being alone again, loosened from their grip like a fat woman from a girdle.

I can finally resume my expectation that when I talk to someone, I talk alone. Nobody’s overhearing my conversation, eager to jump in with their own thoughts with virtually no provocation, like a spoiled child interrupting two adults.

Having someone else in my brain is enough to literally drive me crazy. What can you do about having them inside your head, unwilling to leave under any circumstances?  When crying won’t work? When threats won’t work? When even the threat of suicide won’t rob them of their new “home”?

So it’s beyond description the relief I feel when they’re completely and utterly gone. GONE. .

Smoking and Mental Illness November 20, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Anxiety, Mental Hospital, Psych Ward, Smoking and Mental Illness, mental illness.
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Not a smoker myself, I had the luxury of watching the etiquette of cigarette smoking unveiled right before my very eyes as I roamed the small courtyard of the mental hospital. Without the luxury of time afforded their rich brethren with their ready-made cigarettes like Camel and Virginia Slims, the homeless patients managed to use their ingenuity and creativity to make cigarette rolling into an art form, combining speed and efficiency.  It was fascinating to watch a patient impress his rolling technique with his own personality. Some rollers – mostly men- fancied thick, squatty joint-looking rolls. Others- mostly women- preferred thinner, more ladylike looking cigarettes. Each cigarette had its own distinct look. It was amazing how much variety could be squeezed out of the same ingredients. Who knew that tobacco and rolling paper could be formed into so many individual shapes while still retaining their purpose?

As a nonsmoker, I was initially offended by this dichotomy: serving cancer sticks to the ill seemed morally bankrupt. Later on, I came to understand the stabilizing influence of tobacco. Its anti-anxiety effects became crystal clear to me as I watched the nicotine-deprived mentally ill patients visibly calm down after the administration of a cigarette or two.  Forcing a psychotic patient to suddenly stop smoking was not good medicine, I came to realize. Besides, if the nicotine was looked upon as an anti-anxiety drug, then its administration to a suicidal patient became an action similar to administration of morphine to a cancer patient. Side effects, in other words, are relative.

Watching the daily calming influence of nicotine became a siren call for me to take up smoking, much to my husband’s chagrin.  His daily visits, usually during smoke breaks, were spent watching me learn to roll cigarettes, and then having to listen to my explanation of why I was going to start smoking. To his credit, he neither discouraged nor encouraged me, sensing that any direction whatsoever to a psychotic mentally ill person- especially his wife- would be useless and even counter-productive.

My announcement to the nursing staff of my intention to start smoking was met with less than enthusiasm. The nursing staff, viewing my intentions as simply another manifestation of my mental illness, did everything they could think of to discourage me from lighting up. But the reality was that the same tobacco and rolling paper the homeless used was also available to anyone who wanted to start smoking. Even me.

My anxiety, from the medications as well as the illness, was enormous. Unbearable, even. It was so awful that I would do anything, try anything, to alleviate as much anxiety as I could.  The prospect of dying of lung cancer paled compared to the anxiety of desperately wanting to crawl out of my skin. If smoking would relieve even a small portion of that horrible anxiety, I reasoned, then the price was more than worth it.

While not outright engaging in any sort of discriminatory behavior, the nursing staff nevertheless managed to communicate their dislike of smoking, stopping short of suggesting to the smokers that it might be a good time to quit. They realized the very strong stabilizing effect of tobacco on their charges’ psyche. But while they didn’t actively engage in trying to get people to stop smoking, Hell was going to freeze over before they were going to allow a non-smoking patient to take up smoking.

Their first line of defense was to try to reason with me.  Didn’t I realize that the reason the drug (tobacco) calmed people down was because it was a “fix” from the habit of smoking? That it really didn’t alleviate anxiety like the anti-anxiety pills did?

But I wasn’t buying any of their bullshit. They were lying to me.  I was convinced the drug really was like an extra dose of the anti-anxiety pills. Besides, the doctors limited the number of pills we could take, but not the number of cigarettes we could smoke. It was, I believed, like getting an extra dose of Klonopin.  Besides, all my new friends smoked.

In the end, I couldn’t make my mind up whether to start before I was discharged from the hospital. Once out of the smoking environment, I totally forgot about my desire to take up smoking. Besides, the tools- the tobacco, paper, and rolling machine- were no longer at my fingertips.

M medication is stabilized and I no longer have that incredible surge of anxiety through my system…most of the time.  Although I am glad that I never took the habit up, I no longer pass judgment on the smokers of the world.

Hearing Voices and Cortisone Shots November 18, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Cortisone Shots and Mental Illness, Hearing Voices, Psychiatarist Visits, mental illness.
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What do you get when you cross a mentally ill woman with a cortisone shot?  Voices!

Yesterday, I saw a rheumatologist for the first time in my life. Not to bore anyone with the details, but suffice it to say that my arthritis is getting worse. My new doctor recommended trying a cortisone shot in my hip to see if it reduced or eliminated the pain. The pain is in both hips, and sometimes cortisone shots work for people, and sometimes they don’t. So we decided to try a shot in my left hip, never considering for a moment the possible effect of a cortisone shot on my mental health.

I noticed a significant reduction or actually elimination of the pain within a few hours. It felt better than it had in years, in fact. I was thrilled. Until this afternoon, when I started hearing voices again.

At first they sound like an echo of thoughts. I’ll think something, like “I need to take out the garbage”. Normally, that thought would just be a flash, not even verbalized in any way. But that changes when the voices kick in.  I’ll hear a voice in my head say “I need to take out the garbage”, as if I’m talking to myself out loud. But it’s not out loud. Then, about ½ a second later, there will be an echo voice. “I need to take out the garbage”, then a pause, and then “I need to take out the garbage” again. Always in my own voice, and never out loud.   It’s annoying, but not scary.

From there, it escalated to what I like to call “the commentary”.  That’s when the commentator starts.  Say I’m listening to someone talk to me (in real time) about something. Suddenly, a voice (not mine) inside my head talks over the real person sitting in front of me talking. That voice tells me to ask the person sitting in front of me a certain question, or to tell them a certain thing.

For example, today a dear friend took me to lunch. As we sat in the restaurant, she told me about her recent trip on a Mediterranean cruise.  It was fascinating listening to her stories. But every so often a voice(not mine)  popped into my head as she was talking. It talked over her voice (in my mind) as she continued talking, saying “Ask her what the temperature was like, Kathy”, and then a little later in the conversation it said “Kathy, ask her if the desserts were good on the ship”.  A little while later, it told me to tell her something about my son. But the voice telling me what to do isn’t my own. It speaks to me in the 3rd person, as if I”m standing right in front of it or on the phone with it. I have a choice of whether to obey the voice, and sometimes I don’t. But the voice is not my own.  It’s not me.

These voices (the echo is different from the commentator) differ from the voices I heard when I was psychotic (before my hospitalization). First of all, I have no misconception that the voices are somehow coming to me via ESP. Second, there are not a whole bunch of voices. There are only two: the echo and the commentator.  Thirdly, the voices aren’t those of friends, co-workers, and family members like they were when I was psychotic. I know the voices aren’t me, but as bizarre as it sounds,  the voices are never scary.

I waited a few hours before calling my psychiatrist, Dr. K, hoping that they would go away on their own. That’s the mistake I’ve made before.  I kept thinking they’d go away on their own if I waited long enough.  But I’ve learned my lesson there.  So when the voices didn’t go away on their own by 6 pm, I decided that I had to tell Dr. K  about the voices.  I called his office number, but they told me he was gone for the day. So even though I hate bothering him on his emergency phone, I knew he would want to hear about the voices. So I took a deep breath and called  Dr. K on his emergency number, just in case it was an emergency. I didn’t think it was, but you never know with these sort of things. As usual, he answered the phone just like he always does.  For that I am always eternally grateful.

As usual, he was very reassuring. When I explained about hearing the voices today and about having the cortisone shot yesterday afternoon, he told me that steroids are famous for causing voices to return. Surprisingly, he also told me not to adjust my medication at this point. He said to give it three days, including today. So if I’m still hearing the voices on Saturday, I’m supposed to call him.  Of course if they get worse, he wants to know about it right away. But I’m not worried and he’s not worried. At least at this point.

But I must say that the cortisone shot gave me such relief that I wouldn’t hesitate to get another one, even if it means living with the voices for a few days.  Unless the voices get worse or stick around for longer than a few days, that is.  But so far, so good.

A Journey Into Madness November 18, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Bipolar I, Delusions, Insanity, mental illness.
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A journey into madness is not a case where you wake up one morning and say to yourself,  “Oh, no! I’ve lost my mind!”.  Rather, it’s more like someone who gains say 25 pounds over the course of one year.  It’s a very gradual thing.  One little thing after another.  One small step towards madness the first day, and then a leveling off for a little while, as that small step becomes the new “normal”.  Day after day these small steps play out little by little.  Step upon step, all becoming the next “normal”.  It’s not like a heard attack where you wake up and your world changed overnight.  It’s more like Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s or some other relatively slow-moving disease where your world changes slowly but surely.

But I won’t kid you here.  The progression of my illness wasn’t in years. It was in months.   I went from being a relatively sane 49 year old professional woman (with no history of mental illness) the first week in February 2008 to involuntary committment to a mental hospital with a full-blown case of Bipolar I with psychotic tendencies at the very end of May 2008. Almost four months from start to finish, so to speak.

That would seem relatively quickly to some, but again think of weight gain.  You don’t feel every single pound of weight gain on a day to day basis. You don’t feel every single daily aspect of the loss of memory that’s the hallmark of Alzheimer’s. One little change at a time, piled upon the other little changes. And so it goes for insanity.

My (Fake) Funeral November 11, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Insanity, Manic Depression, Medication Side Effects, NAMI, Recovery, Therapy, mental illness.
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My upcoming 50th birthday has been weighing on my mind, but not for the usual reasons. I have no qualms about turning “old”- whatever that means.  But as the day approaches, I’m dreading it more and more. To celebrate it would be a lie.

Because the person that I used to be suddenly and irrevocably died last year. It was a slow death, sort of. Or at least the process of dying stretched out for months. The mental breakdown that started in February 2008 began the process of cutting away at the very core of my being, and the medication I began taking in late May 2008 finished off what was left of me.  All of what I was is gone, survived by the shell that houses my physical being.

How, then, to celebrate the occasion of the 50th anniversary of my birth?

In my therapist’s office this morning, we arrived at a solution- of sorts. Rather than look at the situation as the anniversary of my birth, I will acknowledge the anniversary in the form of a funeral.  It will, at least for this year, represent my death 16  months ago rather than the anniversary of my birth.  The funeral will be a ceremony in which my grieving can be publicly acknowledged for what it is: the loss of life. The grief is for the birthday that I cannot have.

I returned from counseling and told my husband that in lieu of a big party,  I wanted to have a funeral for my 50th. Not the usual joke-type party where everyone dresses in black and brings old-people gifts. The real kind of funeral. The kind that recognizes the enormity of my loss. I explained that because I died last year (see my blog entry “I Am No More”) celebrating my birthday would be a lie. I told him I’d like just 4 of us, including my sister and brother-in-law and him and I, to go to a nice restaurant, all dressed in black. I said I want a funeral flower arrangement- the kind with the 3 gladiolas. (Did you ever notice that funeral arrangements usually contain those three gladiolas?) One sticking straight up and the other two at 90 degree angles? I told him I wanted one of those. And I want to write my obituary and post it on my blog.

At first, he was in shock (understandably). Then he said that from his perspective, I don’t appear to have changed much. Or at least I have recovered from my psychosis and from those horrible, horrible side effects of the medication I was taking. I no longer believe, sadly, that I am a Mermaid. I no longer have the Parkinson’s, no longer have trouble peeling a banana. I can once again read and write. Getting all of these abilities back after losing them gives the impression that, at least physically, I am back to my old self, whole again.From his perspective, I’m back to normal- more or less.

But it’s really not about how I appear physically to him. It’s about how I am emotionally. And I know that I will never be the way I was. For better or worse, the person that I used to be died. Quickly. Last year. And so for that reason, I cannot in good faith celebrate the 50th anniversary of my birth.  My therapist gave me permission to have the funeral. And after discussion with my husband, he agreed that if that’s what I want, then he’s willing to go along with it also. My sister, I must confess, doesn’t yet know anything about my wishes. But I’m sure that she will honor my request.

We will wear black at dinner. I will purchase a funeral arrangement. I will write my own obituary, to be posted on my blog. The final sentence will say: “In lieu of flowers, donations may be made in her memory to her favorite charity, NAMI”.  Just like the real obituary will say when my shell also dies.

And so we’ll have a funeral. A private funeral, but still a funeral. Because that’s what it really is.

The Job that Took My Mind Part 4 November 8, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Causes of Mental Illness, Delusions, ESP, Hearing Voices, Stress, mental illness.
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A few hours before I held my job hostage with Ben, Marvin had assigned me the task of unraveling how much money we owed the prefabricated stadium stairs subcontractor, who was threatening to leave the project because he hadn’t been paid enough money. My job was unravel all of the revisions and come to an understanding of how much money I thought M Construction truly owed him. I was supposed to have the assignment complete before Marvin’s Monday morning (May 4th) meeting with the subcontractor.

Believing that I was still employed by M Construction, I drove to the jobsite on Saturday, May 2nd, in order to complete my assignment from Marvin. When I arrived at my desk, my computer password had been changed. Panicked, I called Mark explaining that I had done what he and John N. told me to do and held my j ob hostage. After hearing the story, I asked him what he was going to do about it. He told me that I needed to find a new job, since I had quit mine. I argued with him, reminding him of the direction I received from him via ESP. He ended the conversation without providing me with an answer to my question.

After I hung up the phone,  Ben arrived at the jobsite and I asked him why I couldn’t get into my computer. He explained that I had quit. I argued with him, explaining that he needed to give me more help. Finally, after arguing with me for several minutes,  he told me to gather up my things so he could drive me home. He drove me home in my company car, helped me unload my things from the car, and drove away as my husband stood watching the whole thing. When my husband asked me what was going on,  I told him there had been a mistake, and that somehow Ben had the impression that I had quit. I assured him this wasn’t the case, and that I would be returning to work very soon.

The following week, I waited around the house for the anticipated call from John N that would tell me to report back to the jobsite. Several days elapsed without a word from John or anyone else at M Construction. Wednesday morning (May 6th), John directed me (via ESP) to call him so he could give me permission to return to work. So on Wednesday, May 6, 2008, I called John (as he requested via ESP), asking him when I was returning and reminding him of our conversation via ESP. He explained that I had quit my job and that he had replaced me. At first, I argued with John, until he began explaining (via ESP) that he needed a little more time to arrange things. Hanging up the phone with John, I believed that my return was imminent.

As a Mermaid, my life revolved around the water. I swam at the local YMCA pool several times a day, and took occasional trips to the local beach where I would wade around in the (very cold) water to “refresh” myself. I began eating sea shells and wearing them inside my clothing and in my (new) purses. I also began to observe that many of my fellow swimmers were also Mermaids. I could tell them from their (slightly) green skin, although I didn’t confront them about that point.  At the pool, I met a (real, as far as I can tell now) writer named Dan DeLion who insisted that we meet for a cup of coffee at Starbucks. He told me he owned an intergalactic baseball team, and then proceeded to show me the baseball cards of the individual players on the team.

As the voices became higher in decibal and more numerous, I became more and more distracted by them and less focused on the real world around me. I became increasingly more annoyed that the various voices in my head refused to leave me alone. Finally, I got fed up and on May 8th, 2008 I consulted my primary care physician, Dr. Paul, about the whole situation. After I told him that I was hearing voices (but not the extent of the problem), he wrote out a referral to a psychiatrist. But the voices were insistent that I didn’t need to see a psychiatrist because 1. I wasn’t crazy and 2. I didn’t want anyone else thinking I was crazy. So I never made the appointment.

The Job that Took My Mind Part 3 November 7, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Delusions, ESP, Hearing Voices, Stress, mental illness.
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My delusion began in February 2008, when I began hearing voices in my head as I was driving to work. Believing that I had acquired the gift of ESP, I was surprised and thrilled to learn that I could communicate via ESP with my boss Mark and his boss John N. As I believed that I was communicating directly with each of them, I also believed that they were each fully aware of the challenges I was facing on a daily basis as I did my best to put the construction claim against the owner together.

As the pressure to perform increased, my stress level increased accordingly. I learned that I was- and always had been-  a mermaid named Pangea.  I communicated via ESP with powerful people, who hung on my every word. The Dalai Lama, Bill and Melinda Gates, and Oprah Winfrey were part of my inner circle, as well as various people I worked with (including Mark and John N.). I talked with fish, dogs, and cats. I began spending money on clothes and plants.

As I sat in John N’s office in mid March 2008, I turned over the $2 million claim to him, which by that time included 15 four inch binders, numerous as-built plans, and an “as-built” project schedule. Receiving my claim, he told me, for the first time, what my new project was, directing me to report for work the following morning at the ice rink. I was shocked that I received no real recognition for my efforts. No thank you, no gift certificate, no nothing for the job I busted my ass for.  Just “Report to a new job tomorrow morning”.

My new job was  managing what is called the Structures Package on a brand new ice hockey rink in a city an hour (in good traffic) from my house (one-way). The installation of the concrete work, including the stadium steps and ice rink floor would be part of my job, as well as installation of the “cat walk”, the bridging system high above the rink that contained the cameras, tv screen, and all of the other electronic gear you see at various arenas. The entire Structures package, I had been told, was valued at $11 million.

Arriving at the new ice rink jobsite the following morning, I learned that Marvin, a man employed by M Construction but supposedly the owner’s representative, made the unilateral decision months before that M Construction’s project superintendent would do double duty, acting as the guy overseeing the entire $55 million project as well as the guy responsible for my $11 million contract. I realized immediately that each job (managing the entire project and managing the Structures package) would require its own superintendent, and that trying to save money by using the same guy for both jobs was a foolish thing to do. The net effect was that the Structures package was given almost no attention by the superintendent because he was involved in the overall picture rather that the minutia. I couldn’t believe it!

I gave my (unasked-for) opinion of that arrangement and requested permission to hire my own crew. I also asked for a copy of the subcontract for my scope of work so that I could understand the nature, scope, and price of my subcontract. Ben refused both requests.

In late March 2008, the President of the entire company, Tom, visited the jobsite and spent 30 seconds talking to me. He immediately joined my entourage of people who talked with me via ESP.  At around that same time frame, I began to realize why Marvin kept the job so short-staffed. It became crystal clear that he was embezzling large sums of money from the company.The best way to get away with it, I realized, was to keep everyone at the jobsite so short-staffed that they couldn’t keep track of what he was doing.  It was a perfect set-up, and explained why he was running the job so short-handed and burning out people right and left. When I explained (via ESP) to Mark, John N., and Tom what Marvin was doing and how he was doing it as well as how to catch him at it, they thanked me (via ESP).  Assuring me they would work behind the scenes to apprehend Marvin, they asked me not to worry about it any more.

Meanwhile, the stress of trying to run a job short-handed continued to eat away at me and the people around me. No matter how hard we all worked- weekends and late into the evenings- it was never enough. I made no secret of my failings, keeping Ben apprised of the fact that I was falling further and further behind. I told him that I had 140 unopened emails. Still he did nothing to reduce my work load.

Realizing that they couldn’t interfere directly in the Kent project, Mark  and John N. told me (via ESP) that they had hatched a plan so I could get the help I needed. They directed me (via ESP) to hold my job hostage by threatening to quit. They said to tell Ben that I had a job offer from a competing company, and that the second I made the threat, Ben would get me the authority I needed to perform my job. I had been begging Ben for my own superintendent and 2 project engineers so I could get on top of the structures package work since I had arrived at the job in the middle of March 2008.

At Mark and John’s direction (via ESP), on Thursday, May 1, 2008, I walked into Ben’s office and shut the door. I explained that although I had another job offer, I wanted to remain there as long as I could have the authority of a true project manager for the Strutures package.

In shock, Ben told me he would check with Marvin, the Construction Executive. I took this as a good sign. Returning to my office half an hour later, Ben told me that he talked with Marvin and that everything was taken care of. Interpreting that statement to mean that I would be getting the authority I needed, I began fielding calls from various co-workers calling to ask if the rumors of my imminent departure were true. I explained they were not true. Thursday afternoon (May 1st), Ben told me to call John N. to set up my exit interview. Via ESP,  John N. told me the interview was just a formality, and not to worry because he was working behind the scenes on my behalf. At the interview,  the real John asked me to stay on for 2 weeks while he found a replacement. Believing that this was his way of buying time so he could work behind the scenes, I agreed.

Guest Blogger: Mental Illness Can Happen to Anyone (even you!) November 6, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Causes of Mental Illness, Genetics, Stress, Trauma.
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People often think of mental illness as a black or white, yes or no question.  But in reality, to be human is to have issues.  And the cold, hard, truth is that mental illness can happen to anyone.  Yes, absolutely anyone – including you.

Mental illness occurs when certain characteristics line up in what becomes the proverbial “perfect storm.”  Many factors combine to create chaos in the life of a person to the extent that they go over the edge unless some preventative measures are taken.  While there are characteristics and environmental factors that play starring roles, usually one of the superstars of the charade of mental illness is stress.  This is why, for example, many people snap during wars.  The monumental weight of the stress is the equivalent of carrying a huge load of bricks on your back.  The weight starts out to be a bit heavy, then as more and more bricks are added, the person crumbles to the ground in a heap due to the stress. The same happens with our mental states.

You can think of life stress as bricks.  Some of the bricks are heavier and larger than others, just like in real life.  And of course a certain degree of stress is good, just like weight lifting which makes you stronger if done properly.   But eventually you become overloaded, and begin to tell people you are “stressed out.”  Your relationship, job, health, and/or financial situation is getting more and more bleak, and you begin to crack.

This is where other parts of the equation of mental illness come into play.   A major one is trauma – especially major types like child abuse.  Some psychiatrists believe that with each incident of trauma, the brain and body chemistry changes.  Of course there is no such thing as a perfect parent, but the more yelling, screaming, controlling, and/or physical violence that occurs (or witnessed by the child these even if he or she child is not the target), the greater the degree of trauma.  Of course sexual abuse also takes an especially enormous toll.

Another starring role in the complex equation of the development of a mental illness is that of genetics.  Just as many physical illnesses can be inherited, so can mental illnesses.  Some examples of this are depression, bipolar disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, anxiety, as well as many others.

Social support strength is another major role in the spectrum of mental illness.  In other words, a solid foundation of friends and family can insulate the person from the effects of stress.  If a person has a deficit in this area, he is more likely to develop a mental illness.

These are some of the key characters in the onset of mental illness, and why we are all vulnerable.  No one is immune.  For these reasons, maybe it is time to stop the jokes about “crazy people.”  Maybe it is time to carefully analyze our lives to see if we are under too much stress.  And in our busy, fast-paced society, maybe it is time to carefully re-evaluate our priorites.   After all, it could happen to anyone – yes, even you.

Cherrie Herrin-Michehl, MA, LMHC, is a mental health counselor practicing in Woodinville, WA.  She has walked alongside a close family member who was diagnosed with a chronic mental illness.  Visit her web site at www.notjustsymptoms.com or her blog at http://cherriemac.wordpress.com.

The Job that Took My Mind Part 2 November 6, 2009

Posted by Crazy Mermaid in Anxiety, Delusions, Disability Claim, Hearing Voices, Psychotic, mental illness.
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As I began to take over the nightmare job, I quickly learned that:

  • All subcontractors had been working by the hour and the superintendent had been afraid to turn in their invoices because he thought he would be fired. So he had been hoarding their invoices. By the time I found out about them, the stack was about 6 inches high;
  • Not paid for their work, subcontractors were threatening to leave the job (understandably);
  • The owner hadn’t paid M Construction since the first month they’d started the job (3 months prior);
  • Matt had started work on the only floor without any plans;
  • Normal procedure is for the contractor to finish a room and tell the architect he’s done with the work. At that point the architect looks the room over and creates a list of unfinished work (called a “punch list”) before the owner can move into the room. But at the hotel, the hotel manager was in charge. When he thought the work was close to being done, he called the architect for the inspection, even as the subcontractors and carpenters were still installing the work. Then, even as the workers were still in the room, the owner would bring in the bed, dressers, drapes, towels, sheets, etc. and quickly get the room back into the rental pool. M Construction was in effect thrown out of the room before they were done, and then denied access to the room to finish the work on the punch list. It was absolutely the most insane and out-of-control job I had ever seen in my 25 years of managing projects.

As project manager of record, I was responsible for rectifying each and every one of the problems listed above, despite the fact that I was the 3rd project manager in 4 months brought in to complete the project.

After I grasped the magnitude of the challenges, I asked my boss, Mark, to be relieved of the job, believing that the skills required to complete the project were far beyond my capabilities. He denied my request, citing a shortage of qualified project managers company-wide, and expressing confidence in my ability to successfully accomplish the job. When I asked Mark for a project engineer to help me, he denied my requesting, citing the company-wide shortage of project engineers at that point in time.

As the project dragged on though the end of 2007, Mark disassembled the Special Projects Division that I worked for and moved on as Construction Manager of another job. Despite my restricted access to him, I continued to keep Mark abreast of my progress, believing that he was still my boss because nobody else had been assigned to supervise me. At my request, Mark met periodically with me, assisting me in my efforts to obtain a signed contract with the Owner and subcontractors.

After the project was physically completed, I was assigned to build a construction claim against Kimpton for the additional scope and lack of access to the jobsite (guest rooms) in order to complete the punch list. I again asked Mark for the assistance of a project engineer. This time a young pregnant woman project engineer was assigned to assist me during the few months prior to the birth of her baby.