How strange is it for me to be writing a post when I actually feel good? Well, very strange. I don't know why I even have to explain this.
Anyway. I actually had a good day yesterday. felt good, felt normal, felt more like me. I was at work and working with a student nurse who was quite fun. And who also has an alcoholic mother. We had fun swapping stories of our childhoods and I was surprised of the similarities. Topped off my day by going to my first support group (which was a bit terrifying). It was, I guess, your steretypical support group, or what I would imagine one to be. Everyone introduced themselves and what their mental illnes was (moste were depression and anxiety - only 2 others were bipolar). But it was interesting. I'll go at least a couple more times to see if it's a fit. Dr. C and M are supposed to be organizing a bipolar support group which I think I'll like a little more (since everyone there will be diagosed as bipolar). But we'll see.
And I'm doing alright today. No depressive thoughts or feelings, which is good. I'm a little flat, I guess, but I'm able to smile and genuinely laugh. And I'm not super irritable! That's a huge bonus for me because I've been so cranky and down lately.
So yeah. Feeling better. We'll see how long it lasts.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Saturday, May 5, 2012
Annoying
Another one of those "down" writings I guess. I'm frustrated and depressed today. And I came to realize something: I don't even know how I'm suppossed to feel. I don't know what my baseline is. Maybe being down and meloncholy IS my new baseline. Who knows. What I DO know is that this is getting old.
Yesterday was actually an alright day. I went to the gym in the morning, watered all the plants in the yard, cleaned the bathrooms, did the dishes, did laundry, painted, and talking with my grandparents and step mom on the phone. I was contantly busy and I was okay. I was busy in the evening too with my hubby and son and then went to bed only slightly early. A pretty good day.
Today . . .well, today is a different story. I'm at work and I have down time. I've found that if I'm not constantly busy, the thoughts and feelings take over. The feeling of drowning in my own emptiness, becoming lost in the abyss. My mind ruminates over the feelings over and over again and doesn't drop it no matter what I do. My only saving grace is staying constantly busy. But sometimes, there's nothing to do. Both at work and at home. And then my saving grace becomes sleep. Becase at least with sleep, I don't feel or think.
I feel like I'm writing the same thing day in and day out. Nothing changes. Nothing gets better. I'm tempted to stop all my meds just to see what would happen but that's unsafe. And stupid. Instead I write and try to busy myself with whatever I can and hope I can make it until bedtime.
I feel like crying right now. Thought I'd throw that out there. Sitting here at work, in the cubby away from everyone, typing and holding back the tears. What a way to live. Feeling like crap FOR NO REASON. Except for my fucked up brain chemistry that I can't get control of. I can't manage it. I'm tired of the mood swings. I'm tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of drowning.
By the way, no, I'm not suicidal.
Yesterday was actually an alright day. I went to the gym in the morning, watered all the plants in the yard, cleaned the bathrooms, did the dishes, did laundry, painted, and talking with my grandparents and step mom on the phone. I was contantly busy and I was okay. I was busy in the evening too with my hubby and son and then went to bed only slightly early. A pretty good day.
Today . . .well, today is a different story. I'm at work and I have down time. I've found that if I'm not constantly busy, the thoughts and feelings take over. The feeling of drowning in my own emptiness, becoming lost in the abyss. My mind ruminates over the feelings over and over again and doesn't drop it no matter what I do. My only saving grace is staying constantly busy. But sometimes, there's nothing to do. Both at work and at home. And then my saving grace becomes sleep. Becase at least with sleep, I don't feel or think.
I feel like I'm writing the same thing day in and day out. Nothing changes. Nothing gets better. I'm tempted to stop all my meds just to see what would happen but that's unsafe. And stupid. Instead I write and try to busy myself with whatever I can and hope I can make it until bedtime.
I feel like crying right now. Thought I'd throw that out there. Sitting here at work, in the cubby away from everyone, typing and holding back the tears. What a way to live. Feeling like crap FOR NO REASON. Except for my fucked up brain chemistry that I can't get control of. I can't manage it. I'm tired of the mood swings. I'm tired of feeling like this. I'm tired of drowning.
By the way, no, I'm not suicidal.
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
Empty
I hate that all my posts are when I'm down. I guess that's just when I feel like writing. Anyway, I've had some good days. Days where I feel like myself. Where I'm happy and open and I talk and joke and laugh. and sadly, those days are few and far between.
Most days I'm empty. Just . . .empty. I want to hide from the world. I'm withdrawn and quiet. My smiles are forced. I feel like everything is pointless. Melancholy and darkness rule. I feel so bad and it's useless.
This is most days. MOST days. I should be feeling better. But I'm not. I force myself to do things on those days - I've sewn a lot lately, drafted new patterns. Kept busy. That's more productive than hiding in bed, which is what I want to do. I make believe that I'm alright because I don't know what else to do. I don't know why I feel this way and I can't control it.
I don't say much when I'm with people because I'm worried about what might come out of my mouth. Something inappropriate? Something about bipolar? A scream? People generally don't want to be burdened with someone's mental illness. It's not a convenient or nice subject to talk about. It makes people feel uneasy. So I keep my mouth shut and I nod and smile and act like I'm interested while on the inside I'm dead and screaming, waiting for someone to notice.
No one does though. No one comes to the rescue. I can't be saved from myself, from my mental illness. It's with me always, looming, smothering, a stranglehold on my life.
I know things will get better, eventually. My psychiatrist and therapist tell me this. Everyone tells me this. Try living it, and then telling me that. When you wake up and know that you have to struggle to get through the day, just to make it to bedtime because at bedtime you get to sleep and forget, but then you wake up to do it again . . .then tell me it will get better. I hear those words but they're empty.
Like me.
Most days I'm empty. Just . . .empty. I want to hide from the world. I'm withdrawn and quiet. My smiles are forced. I feel like everything is pointless. Melancholy and darkness rule. I feel so bad and it's useless.
This is most days. MOST days. I should be feeling better. But I'm not. I force myself to do things on those days - I've sewn a lot lately, drafted new patterns. Kept busy. That's more productive than hiding in bed, which is what I want to do. I make believe that I'm alright because I don't know what else to do. I don't know why I feel this way and I can't control it.
I don't say much when I'm with people because I'm worried about what might come out of my mouth. Something inappropriate? Something about bipolar? A scream? People generally don't want to be burdened with someone's mental illness. It's not a convenient or nice subject to talk about. It makes people feel uneasy. So I keep my mouth shut and I nod and smile and act like I'm interested while on the inside I'm dead and screaming, waiting for someone to notice.
No one does though. No one comes to the rescue. I can't be saved from myself, from my mental illness. It's with me always, looming, smothering, a stranglehold on my life.
I know things will get better, eventually. My psychiatrist and therapist tell me this. Everyone tells me this. Try living it, and then telling me that. When you wake up and know that you have to struggle to get through the day, just to make it to bedtime because at bedtime you get to sleep and forget, but then you wake up to do it again . . .then tell me it will get better. I hear those words but they're empty.
Like me.
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