Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Special Treat – Serina Matteson

August 9, 2006

Just In Case You Really Want To Know…Part 3

Serina Matteson

"On my God! What have I went and done now? I feel sick at my stomach. Maybe if I eat something I'll feel better," I thought to myself. I drove through the Arby's drive in window and grabbed some food to go on top of the previous days alcohol.

Three days earlier I had left my children and parents without even letting them know I was leaving. No hi, bye, or even kiss my ass. I went to a neighboring city forty miles away. There I stayed in the bars from eight in the morning till two in the morning drinking. I was manic as the day was long. It was next to impossible for me to get drunk my adrenaline was pumping so hard. I usually slept two or three hours a night in my car because of the accumulation of alcohol in my system. The rest of the night I would drive around, stopping in at gas stations and talking nonsensically to the night workers. I know I had to scare the hell out of a few of them.

On the third evening after getting my food from Arby's my mood took a drastic turn in the other direction. I began to crash. It descended as quickly as the setting sun. I realized what all I had done and headed toward home. I stopped at a gas station to call my family and let them know I was o.k. for the first time and that I was on my way home when my parents car pulled up beside me. They had come into town looking for me. My mother stepped into my car and drove me home. I cried all the way telling her I was sorry, that I didn't know what had come over me. She accepted my apology and reassured me everything would be alright. That we would go and see the doctor in the morning.

When I arrived home my daughter was lying in bed crying. She thought I had deserted her. I crawled in beside her and we snuggled until she went calmly to sleep. I was exhausted and drifted in and out but still could not rest. The beginning stages of depression had its grips on me now. I was having anxiety attacks. All I could ponder about was what I had put my family through and how I had behaved the previous days. I was ridden with guilt. A little voice inside of me started saying, "You don't deserve them. You should be punished." It was relentless in its cause.

The anxiety escalated and I could feel the blood inside of me quicken. My chest tightened and my breathing labored. My first gut feeling was that I was having a heart attack. Then a sensation of dread started to take a hold of me. My pulse picked up pace. Then a feeling of separation occurred. I felt like I was floating outside of myself and my mind had left my body. Death seemed to be chasing me and utter panic had set in. I counted my pulse and it was around 180 beats per minute. "OH MY GOD! I'M DEAD!" is all that consumed my confused thoughts. "No, I can't be dead, I feel a pulse. I'm going crazy and I can't stop it!" By this time I was out of bed and running through the blackness of the house like a chicken with its head cut off. I was bumping into to objects and knocking knick knacks down. I ran out my parents door and across the yard to my trailer where my medicine was.

I planted 2mg of Ativan under my tongue but it was not working fast enough. I knew the way to redirect my panic so it would dissipate. It wasn't a noble way, it just worked. I scuttled around gathering up my hidden supplies and proceeded to the bathroom sink. I turned on the cool water to wash away the coming blood so I could continue to see my work. With a razorblade I made an inch and a half cut vertically down both wrist. I didn't cut deep the first slice or the second. This had to be a process. I commenced cutting over and over again in the same place on each wrist, getting deeper each time. Eventually I got deep enough to see the artery and just barely nicked the one in my left wrist. That was all the artery could endure and began to spit blood out with each beat of my heart. Suicide was never my intent. It was now time to go to the hospital for stitches because I was bleeding fairly fast. There was nothing better to rid the panic within than having to concentrate on not cutting to deep. I never felt pain.

I wrapped my arms in ace bandages and drove myself 2.2 miles to the hospital. I didn't want my family to know what I had done. It would worry them to distressingly. By the time I reached the hospital the bandages were soaked through. I didn't even have to give them my insurance card. The doctor of course was a real jackass. I received twelve stitches in my right arm and fifteen in my left. Then I was released to go home.

Once at home I felt better for a few hours. It seemed like a weight had been lifted off my chest. I now had to remember to wear long sleeves around my family. I was finally able to drift off to sleep.

I awoke early the next morning feeling even shoddier than the previous night. Major depression now had its claws in me. I rose to go to the bathroom and every square inch of my body throbbed. My legs and arms felt like they were dragging one hundred pound weights along with them. Exhaustion consumed me. The piercing sunlight coming threw the windows felt like ice picks in my eyes. I crawled back onto the couch and fell back into a deep sleep with the covers over my head.

Around noon my mother came home from work to check on me. The sound of her voice echoed throughout my head like thunder. She asked how I was feeling and I lied. I said I was just tired and trying to catch up on my sleep. But the truth was the monster was growing inside. That feeling of emptiness was present now. The questions of, "Who am I? Why am I here? What is the purpose?" began to reverberate through my aching brain. I remember swallowing massive amounts of Aleve in hopes of numbing the pain. Of course it didn't work.

I slept around the clock for two more days trying to avoid the pain as it slowly swelled. I continued to ask myself, "How can I feel any worse than I already do?"

Yet the monster still grew hungrier. My chest now ached inside like I had experienced a horrendous loss. I felt terrible guilt for even breathing the air. As I closed my eyes the image of kicking about in a pool, struggling to keep my head above water, was all I could envision.

Ultimately I believed I could not take the lingering torture. I was on the prescription Lithium of 150mg. With Lithium you can't just take a handful and then die in a few minutes. Lithium has to build up to a toxic level in your blood which may take at least a day. I was only suppose to take two a day. That morning I took ten. I went to see the shrink for an appointment and told her but promised I would not take anymore. I lied. She respond with, "O.k. See you next week."

That afternoon I took ten more. The normal range of Lithium in a person's blood is suppose to be from 0.6 - 1.5. The next morning I woke up vomiting with massive diarrhea. I also appeared drunk as a skunk. That is when my family busted me. They smelled no alcohol on my breath and I was completely incoherent. At the hospital they drew my blood and my Lithium level was 4.4. This ended me in the ICU for three days. At this level your kidneys can shut down and heart failure can occur.

After being let out of the ICU I was shipped off immediately to a psych hospital for 14 days. I didn't find it very helpful.

Mostly I am a manic person and my depressive states never hit this low of a level. I am also what they call a rapid cycler. When I do hit a low level like this one I hit it fast and hard. This is not always the case with people experiencing depression. As I stated in my first article, the symptoms encompass a wide territory and each individual is different. That is why each person has to be treated with different types of medication.

Here again, this happened in the beginning days of my illness when I was still unstable on medication. It is a very difficult process to find the right mix of meds to stabilize each unique individual. It is a trail and error process. As a general rule it usually takes around three years to stabilize most people who are bipolar.

A supportive connection of family and or friends are dearly needed during these times. They can help to recognize the signs and intervene. They themselves must be educated too. At first my parents did not understand and wouldn't talk to me after an episode. After going to counseling sessions themselves they are completely different and understanding people now. They have saved my life. God has truly blessed me with a wonderful, caring, and compassionate family. Without them I would not be here writing to you now. Thanks again to all of you who took the time and interest to read my story.

Serina Matteson

matteson4892@hotmail.com

My name is Serina Matteson. I live in Arab, Alabama which is where I have lived all my life. I am 39 years old and have two wonderful children. Daniel who is twenty and Anna who is 18. They are both in college now. My son is going to be an engineer and my daughter is going on a volleyball scholarship to be a teacher and coach. Right now I am an unemployed paralegal on disability because of my bipolar illness and an aspiring writer. My dreams are to publish a novel some day.