There are several things I'm struggling with right now. One is working through all of the ACOA stuff. Examining how I fit into having grown up in an alcoholic household. And it's tough. Another is my job. I'm thinking about switching my area of nursing - right after accepting a promotion and getting my expert certification. Go me.
But there's something else I'm, going to write about tonight. Something that I'm truly having a difficult time thinking about/coming to terms with/accepting/believing. And that's the topic of self sabotage. It's a hard pill to swallow. One I don't want to swallow.
My husband has pointed out several times that he thinks I bring my depression upon myself. That I start to feel better and I get scared and find some reason to stay depressed. I asked him the other night what patterns, specifically, he saw and he couldn't tell me any - just that it's what I do. Let's be honest, that's less than helpful. So I asked him to be aware and if he saw something to please point it out to me.
There's one aspect of being ACOA that was hard to examine and write about - that we often play the victim. Whether to seek attention or approval, we often play the victim. I wrote a ton in my ACOA post about this. That I can see myself playing the victim. Seeking attention. Seeking approval. Exaggerating faults against my self. Catastrophizing everything. Overreacting. I can see this within myself and I hate it. Absolutely hate it. It's a trait I wish I didn't have. I don't want to be a victim or play that role. I don't.
Which makes me think - is this what I'm doing with my depression? Am I truly keeping myself depressed for attention? Sabotaging myself so I don't get better? It's such a difficult question. And the answers could be scary. Ugly. Things that I don't want to know let alone admit. But it's something I need to take a close look at if I want to get better.
So I started thinking. Examining. Paying attention to my thinking patterns, what I was feeling at any given moment. Looking for behaviors, patterns, triggers. And I discovered something: I have no idea what the fuck goes on in my head.
Let's look at last Thursday. The few days before I felt pretty good. Pretty upbeat, no real complaints. Some irritability, but that seems to be a staple with me the last 6 months. Then Thursday hits. I had no reason at all to feel depressed. Depressed enough to feel suicidal. Depressed enough to cut myself. No reason. I tried to find one. I couldn't. It happened. I was in a dark pit of despair for no reason I could see. Then my husband came home. We talked about it and I felt considerably better. Friday I was pretty good, a little down. Same with Saturday and Sunday. Monday, not bad. I went to therapy Monday night, where we talked about the cutting. I left laughing, having had a good session. Tuesday and Wednesday pretty darn good - the irritability again, but again, that seems to be normal for me.
I can find no reason for Thursday. None. J would assume that I caused it myself. Which is why I didn't call him when I wanted (and did) cut. I didn't want him to judge me and think I caused it. If I did, it was completely subconsciously.
And so I'm thinking. Thinking about everything. Thinking past over the last year. And there are patterns. Patterns of mood swings. Swings between depression and mixed episodes. Up and down over the past year. Could this be it? The ongoing struggle of finding the right combination of meds to balance me? It can take a year or more to find stability after a bipolar episode, whether depression or mania. Is this it?
Sadly, I don't think so. At least not entirely. I think it plays a major role, for sure. But I also think that ACOA is contributing. Part of my fucked up personality and mindset and just me. When I look at myself, really look at myself . . .I see that victim. That lonely sole looking for attention and approval. The one who sought it so often growing up. The one who sought it in friends but never had any. The one who sought it in a relationship and was met with pain and abuse. I see that. I see me.
That's who I am. I need attention - whether it's good or bad. I need approval. I seek it out. I strive for perfection. I worry about what people think of me. I push myself - even when I want to crumble. All for attention. All for approval. All to try and fill the void in my soul. In my core. But it's always empty - no matter how much I try to fill it with love or hate or attention or pity.
And I look at this, and I wonder, am I really causing my own depression? Do I need attention that bad that I would make myself feel like shit just to get it? Am I truly that afraid of feeling good? Am I truly that fucked up? I look at the patterns. I look at my behavior, my thoughts.
And the answer, I think, is no. The operative words being "I think". I think in some instances I might "play up" how I'm feeling. Meaning, I feel bad, but I portray that I'm feeling a little worse. For example, in therapy, when M and I were discussing my rape and abuse and sexual assault, it was difficult for me. I hadn't talked to anyone about it -ever- and it was over 12 years ago. So yes - it was hard. But I played up how difficult. I was a little more dramatic. Why? Seeking attention. I wanted sympathy, empathy. I wanted to be told that everything was alright. I wanted to be mothered.
But on the same token, it was genuinely distressing for me. It was genuinely difficult. I had nightmares. I had anxiety so bad that I needed xanax. That is not a lie. That is not me seeking attention. That is not me causing the pain or anxiety myself. Did I play it up? Yes. As much as I don't want to admit it, I played it up. But that doesn't discount the fact that it was painful and difficult and horrifying to talk about and relive.
If we look at my second major depressive episode this year (starting in October, building to a crescendo on Halloween and the week after, and slowly now leaving), I did not cause that. I was suicidal. More so than I have ever been (even more so that my episode that started this whole year long process of recovery). I felt so empty and hopeless and worthless that I almost took a gun to my head. I did not cause that. No one wants to feel like that. I don't want to feel like that.That is depression. That is bipolar disorder. That is not me.
I'm coming out of that depressive episode. It was pretty bad until the beginning of December. My meds were changed. It takes awhile to adjust. Anyone who has been through something like this knows that. I have good days and mediocre days and bad days. That's normal . That's part of bipolar disorder. That's part of being human. I have days like today where I'm down. I'm angry and sad and all I want to do is sleep. And that's okay. And maybe on a day like today I'll play up my mood. Just a little, to get attention.
And then I have days like last Thursday. A day, randomly out of the blue, where the depression is back full force, making me question if life is worth living. And those days? They happen. Do I like them? No. Do I cause them? No. I sure as hell better not because how fucked up would that actually be? And when I feel like that, I don't play it up. I'm not acting. When I feel that bad, there's no need to play it up. My actions and words - or lack there of - speak for themselves. My cuts speak for themselves. And lets be honest - I'm a highly educated RN who knows cutting does nothing. But when I felt like I did, it seemed like the only thing I could do to stop the pain. That is not looking for attention. That is looking for help.
Do I play up my moods for attention? Yes. Do I play up my mild depression for attention? Yes. Do you know how difficult it is for me to admit this? Probably not. Do you know how shitty it makes me feel? I doubt it.
Let's move on to the second part of the issue. Am I scared of being happy? This is troublesome. Because I don't know. It's true - I've dealt with the depression for so long . . .my whole life, honestly. But I had ups and downs, times where I was relatively happy. Times where I wasn't depressed. That being said, this past year has been hellacious. I've spent most of the past year either horribly depressed or in a mixed episode. It's what I'm used to. It's familiar. So might I be scared to feel good? Hell yes. I'm not sure what it feels like anymore. It's been too long. I have days, days where I do feel happy and good and okay. And yes, those days scare me. I wonder when the crash will come. If I feel really good, I automatically wonder if I'm starting to swing the other way - mania.
My thinking about it is fucked up. I don't know what to think. How I should feel. So when I feel okay, I second guess myself. It's not what I'm used to. Conditioned to. I think I should still feel bad. That I've felt so bad for so long that I can't possibly feel good - it's not in the cards. I never will. In this respect am I sabotaging myself? I guess yes, I could be. But how? How the actual fuck am I doing it? I can't find any triggers. Nothing. No trigger for last Thursday, no matter how hard I look. And if I'm doing this, it's obviously for attention. The only thing I can think of. Attention from J. From Dr. C. From M. That I don't want to lose the attention I'm getting from them. If I feel better, I won't see Dr. C as often. If I feel better, I won't have weekly or bi-weekly therapy sessions with M. I won't get as much attention from J. I won't get a pass from doing housework sometimes because "I'm depressed and have no energy". All of these things . . .
I can see how this is plausible. Part of me even believes it. Part of me fights this thinking tooth and nail. Why? What a horrible thought. What a horrible truth. I making myself sick, suicidal, because I want attention. That would be something that no one wants to admit to. Myself included.
But the possibility is there. My fucked up personality, whether a result of ACOA or not, is causing a detrimental worsening of my bipolar symptoms. Is causing me to become suicidal for attention.
I don't quite believe it. And I have to think more about it. And talk with J and talk with M and write and explore and figure out what's going on. Between my bipolar disorder, my fucked up personality and my ACOA traits . . .I have my work cut out for me.
And damn this post turned out to be long.
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