My Habeas Corpus

  How Many More Times? Danny Munoz How many more times must I be subjected to the embarrassment that comes with the loss of one's rationality. I spend years putting my life back together only to have everything fall apart within days as they put me in chains and force me into a hospital yet again. I'd be upset if I had any tears left to shed. I've already lost my wife, I only see my children every two weeks and I'm not sure if the decent job I landed last year is still mine as they've gotten wind of my mental illness. If history repeats itself, everybody runs for the hills when they find out I have a problem with my mind, regardless of how "amazing" or "bright" they claimed I was. If indeed history repeats itself I will be left broke and alone once more. To hell with it, if this is yet another test for me, to see if this time it will kill me then I shall pass. For I'm not yet giving up, I'm not yet ready to stop living. To be fair this ti...

  I recently saw Are You Here, a movie with Owen Wilson, Zack Galifianikis and Amy Poehler, written and directed by Matthew Weiner. The movie is currently my favorite depiction of mental illness in film. While some parts of the plot are implausible, Ben, Zack Galifianikis's character, as young man diagnosed with manic-depression is powerful. The writer captures much of the complexity of the disease, deftly conveying moments of psychosis and depression. What is most beautiful in the movie is his friendship with Owen Wilson's character, Steve. Both characters are depicted as seriously flawed individuals who accept each other's shortcomings as an intrinsic part of each's identity. However, this doesn't mean they don't want to see change in one another. It shows the beauty and depth of accountability in relationships. Each calls out the other for reckless choices in a way that cuts through the noise. This communication invites them to respond to each other's cha...

 It's been a while since I've written. I experienced what I could refer to as a depressive espisode, or I could just call it pregnancy. Don't get me wrong, pregnancy is a huge blessing, but during those nine months my mental health truly suffered.  Even before the nine months, I was starting to suffer. There were many difficult stages in the last year or so of my life. And here I went into this thinking I had been through the worst. Two months into marriage my husband and I met with my psychiatrist to discuss our desire to have a baby. Unfortunately, the medication I was dangerous for pregnancy. I was taking an antidepressant and a mood stabilizer.  The mood stabilizer could cause very serious and scary birth defects. I'd been taking this drug cocktail for around 10 years, so the consideration to change anything was not something we treated lightly. The doctor advised me how to slowly wean of the medication and get to a point where I was no longer on it.  Decreasing ...

There is likely a good chance of parent abuse and neglect . . . When the child has to open a PO box because the parent is stealing personal items from the mail. When a child stays at hotels to avoid going home to the abusive situation When a child opens a safety deposit because she is terrified that she will lose everything and fears she must run, even if she has no idea where to when a parent pushes children down the hallway, kicks them and throws toys at them when a parent yells and screams curse words over and over and over "this room is a pigsty, you stupid ass. do you do this because you hate me?" she would say again and again I did not know where to turn. I feared for me life. I feared so much. I just drove around central florida terrified. She would go to my work and sleep. She would tell people I worked with I was incapable of work. She will NEVER be alone with my children.  She will NEVER be alone with me.  She is very very mess...

Had a medication management appointment today. I was really inspired seeing this quote posted for the new year on my psychiatrist's wall. He had another painting one of his patient's did that showed a man riding a sad horse. He told me that his patient is talented. It's really beautiful to see a doctor celebrating the work that someone with mental illness completed. I read in these words so much hope for the future and drive to survive. 

It's been a little over a month since I took my 2 week leave of absence. It is strange to look back only weeks later and feel so dramatically different. I have so much more hope, energy and comfortability with where I am now. I have been healthier and happier after taking the rest time from work. I still have uncertainty about parts of my future, but I now know how helpful tools like medicine, rest, friendship, and lifestyle changes (eating and exercising) can be. A huge part of my healing has come from being apart of the Emotional Ally Society. This group has given me a safe place to show up and be honest about where my struggles take me. Knowing I finally have a place where these deeply shameful and broken parts of me can be seen is like knowing I can belong somewhere. With my experiences in the hospital, I've had moments in life where I felt deeply unsafe. I felt the world was dangerous and terrifying. Attending the EAS group has helped to heal the wound and return the sen...

I like short haircuts. I have had short hair the majority of my life. However, when I had my breakdowns, the hair got a lot shorter than the ol' chin length bob. The first breakdown was marked with me cutting it really boy short. And when I went through the next set, I think I cut it some then. Weirdly enough, in distant pop culture world, it was around when Britney Spears cut her hair short, had her life hiccups. There have been these strange moments of feeling extremely connected to celebrities. Britney Spears showed a rage that I was feeling. Hilary Duff released an album about frustration with her dad. Amanda Bynes had her strange wig moments and erratic behavior where she was in court. Hell, even later when Miley Cyrus had moments I felt like these women were acting on very normal rational impulses. The public eye was showing a vulnerable side to people that I felt connected to. So I didn't full on shave my head like Britney, but in the past, each manic breakdown was...

The 15 Year Itch It's 15 years since my diagnosis. Mental illness strikes again. The survival imperative kicks in. I march uphill - the only path ahead is that of a warrior, a soldier, a fighter. Somehow I am finding my way to the other side. God is answering prayers. My psycologist and psychiatrist helped me to feel heard. Work allowed me to take time off. My husband gave me grace, courage and support in every achy moment, and there has been many. I'm walking onto the other side of a two-month climb out of depression. I think am learning how life stress can weigh on me twice as much as the not so bipolar person. It takes extra extra extra self-care and awareness to honor my needs and keep pressing forward.

Ok, so remember back when I mentioned how during the first breakdown I fell for this Australian guy named James? I often look back at that time and think it was a perfect storm that began with discord between my mom and I, dramatic food/workout changes and feeling intense romantic feelings. When everything began at that apartment with those two roommates, I was developing feelings for my assistant manager at work. Now, I think I mentioned the tension I felt because he kissed me and had a girlfriend and was my manager, but I didn't fully divulge how much I was affected by it all. Right before I was hospitalized, I was stuck in thought circles about Vinnie. And one night it went from a crush to sudden very deep emotions - the kind that, like with James, made me start to basically live from the world of fantasy briefly. It was all one bad evening, but I went down the rabbit hole and basically started imagining our wedding. I made a list of my bridesmaids, I started to write invita...

Another hospital stay I remember was especially terrible. They all were, but this one had more agony to it. I remember acutely feeling rock bottom. Not like suicidal or depression, but like end of the universe lostness and confusion without any idea how to climb out. This one was where I believe the meds they gave me were at odds with the chemistry within me.  I have never felt as scared, terrified, alone, and unprotected as I did when I was in the hospital. Anyone who says, it is better than being out of the hospital where you could hurt yourself or do something wild doesn't really understand what they are suggesting. They might think it's a time-out, a retreat, a safe place. I assure you, it is not safe.  Forcing someone to stay in a hospital against their will teaches someone that you are not safe, people are not safe, the world is not safe. Exerting physical force to put another person's body where they do not want to be can be a monstrous act. No matter how bene...

I was thinking about explaining a little more about the hospital. It's an unusual experience. There's an intake time where they take your clothes and make you sign forms. I think they say that in some cases when you cannot be responsible for yourself, it's recommended to write and Advanced Directive, which means your care is entrusted to another person who will have essentially power of attorney over you. The problem with this is that I didn't have someone who I trusted to do that. Docs always tried to push this stuff towards my parents and only release me into their care. It was always trading one hell for another (back then anyways). Once you're in the hospital, you wear a gown or scrubs and those little footy socks. The rooms are barren, much like a prison. It's set up so there is not way to harm yourself. At night there are checks every hour or so to make sure nothing is wrong. Sometimes there was a flashlight. There's basically a group of rooms with a...

Back in school there were great moments of discovering Alan Ginsberg, reading Marx, visiting the Keys, learning about the mental health struggles of Zelda Fitzgerald, being part of Winter with the Writers, passing a chemistry and stat class. It was rebuilt. I had roommates. There were two. we got a tree for Christmas. We had friends over. One met her future husband, watched Friends, talked about how tiring the teaching was. The other went on dates with nice Christian guys (the ones that never seemed to show any interest in me, but who I think I was supposed to like), read good books, planned a non-tv-centric living room. We visited Coral Gables. I was working, trying to finish college. We did the South Beach diet together. I was doing the diet and also running a lot. I've been a runner since I graduated high school. I never went far or fast, but I always go back to it. Well, I was running farther and more frequently. I was stressed with school I guess. I started developing feel...

Transitioning to working at Starbucks was a growing period in my life. I was adjusting to a new way of life. I wasn't in school for a few months, I was processing sadness, confusion, new meds, and a loss of friends, but I was working. Knowing I could work again after two firings and two times dropping out of school was such as relief. I could make money. I could hope to take care of myself. I could imagine the possibility of not being stuck at my parents. I woke up at 4:45 am, had espresso and went to work. I worked with some really kind people. My identity was changing. I wasn't showing up as the straight A student who thought she had her shit together and was just making summer cash. I was there trying to survive, pushing through the daze of what felt like a difficult and somewhat unappealing existence and just following the training I was given. The structure and culture at my work then worked well. The manager was my favorite manager I have ever worked for. He was a s...

Today was a particularly brutal day at work. I am in pain, feeling weak and exhausted from a recent dental procedure. There was an awful conversation that really made me feel like I was on the ropes. I hate that feeling, kinda vulnerable, not treated the way I like to be. That level of weakness really cuts deep. Beyond all that, I suppose is still the ever present memory and struggle of managing my mental health, emotions, stability. Always striving to maintain that evenness, that keel that I'd say comes more naturally for other people. Between my waves of passion - which I have full measures of - there is a calm eye of the storm that I know I have to live in. But sometimes that eye seems so small, and the storm of life surrounding me feels so so big. Practically speaking, I have doctor's appointments I have to schedule into my life, my day, my time. I have medicine I have to pick up. I have prescription appointments every 3 months. I have counseling appointments I schedule...

For parts of this story I've thought through over and over, I don't like telling it as much. It's just facts I am unleashing from me brain. I want to move forward, but I will get this out. Um, well, I have always loved singing. Really really loved it. I sing in church most Sundays. A few weeks after my attempt, I was trying to sing and my voice would hurt, feel like a tiny guitar pic was like poking in my vocal chords or something. It seemed like certain notes. And it felt kinda hoarse, and just like catching, so I couldn't create whole round sounding notes. maybe like something inside was choking my singing voice. So we went to a doctor to evaluate it. My mom did haul me to an awful lot of appointments those days. Anyway, this guy stuck a camera up my nose and down the back of my throat. I think he might've looked down my throat too. I think he was an ENT. He found scar tissue he thought was causing the problem. The scar tissue was from when I was intubated follo...

In between all of the depression, med visits, doc appointments and my mom dragging me grocery shopping, clothes shopping or to lunches, I had the trouble of what to do with time. My mom had enrolled me in community college classes, but then the medication was making my mind fuzzy and I couldn't concentrate. I had to drop those classes and try to get a refund. My mom marched me to the college office to plead my case as a bipolar depressive who couldn't hack it. It was miserable. There was something so shameful about how she had me keep the illness quiet unless there was money to get back. I don't know. Maybe I am misremembering parts of this. Anyway. I had to drop out of college a second time which was a blow to the ego. Meanwhile, she was pushing me to get a job. I had started out wanting a job, just as I had wanted college, just as I had wanted to live, just as I had wanted freedom. But with all the steady, deep and unexpected blows, I wanted very little. However, my mom ...

It's a bit hard to tell this whole story amidst the fog of time, sadness and medically altered reality. Some of the events I remember after. Before my attempt there had been another time I was almost hospitalized. It had been a late night of feeling trapped, painting and the feeling the frenetic energy of someone imprisoned in their own home because of their own mind. Oh, wait, now I remember more pieces of this stretch. It actually happened maybe 6 years later. If I don't have to discuss this bit not, then I won't.

Once I was released from the hospital - and back into my parents' care - my mom and I went and stayed in a guest house/mother-in-law suite on a church friend's property. The house had light pastel colors and a very peaceful feel. It was clean, it was a little comforting. It was good to not be back in my parents' house yet. My mom and I stayed their maybe 3 nights. The second day a friend came over. Becca was in massage therapy school. She brought her table and gave me a full body massage. Something about the act and experience was so healing. I think it helped that I knew her. I think she was praying for me and maybe sharing kind words. I felt strengthened. The first night there, I had gone to sleep craving the nothingness of sleep, still so antagonistic towards the thought, concept and act of existence. When I woke up though, I felt refreshed. I decided I wanted to live. Hell, I even wrote a poem about it. Maybe it was the medication stabilizing me finally. Maybe it was...

After the attempt there was the mandatory 72 hour watch of being on lockdown in the hospital. It's good I was there. I still wanted to die. I found a drawstring on my basketball shorts. I was in the shower area. I tried to form a noose type thing. That rope was so weak and there was nothing to jump off of and really it was too much effort to try and figure out how to end things, how to escape the pain of the reality I abhorred. So I went back to napping. A conversation with my psychologist who had been meeting with me at the time actually helped wake me up. He actually came to the hospital and visited - he's the only doc to ever do that. It said a lot. He asked how I was doing. I made small talk. I made jokes. I was always trying to see the funny part of life, find the joy, laugh at the bad...there was so much bad. And he stopped me. He stared me dead in the face and asked why I was laughing. I said because I said something funny. He told me none of it was funny. I had just tr...

Do you remember how I said that this all began with a day I was supposed to be lifeguard at the pool? This was after the sweeping the floor day, which ignited the whole series of events. On D-day, which I suppose means diagnosis day, I had such an ironic job of being there to save other people's lives. And yet I was losing mine that day. But that was 15 years ago. Today at work I was writing about summer camps, about safety rules, about lifeguard stations and keeping the pool area safe from hazards. It's so bizarre how far I fell, how far I've come, how unusually life unfolds. It's been a good day. Outside of work I've been involved in the business of life guarding a friend - helping her manage the things that could cause her to drown. Sometimes this fills me with a sense of peace and security to know I have a cushion of years between me and some of the darkest memories. But other times I'm just dazed. I have to fight back that fear of if and when it all mi...