A quick-ish update

I probably won't make this one long. It's just been awhile since I last posted. Since my last post (8 days ago, holy crap!), I'm feeling a little more. Everything is still muted. The feelings are there . . .they're just weak, muted, and cloudy. But I'm getting there.

I saw Dr. C on Monday, we're keeping my meds as is (how they were adjusted in the hospital). I see him again in a month.

I saw M last week and yesterday (Wednesday), and I'll still be going weekly. My visits are always good and yesterday I was even able to laugh and joke and genuinely feel it.

About yesterday, I ended up being slightly hypomanic. I had a hard time sitting still, was fidgety, had some racing thoughts and flight of ideas, and pressured speech. It was very mild, but it was there. This morning, down in the dumps, no motivation. Blah.

One thing that I started last week is equine therapy. Yay! I'm working with horses! Equine therapy involves using the horse as a guide to build confidence, peace of mind, and the ability to be in the moment - to be present. It also helps you focus and gives a sense of purpose. Last week I worked with Chance - a lovely quarter horse/Arabian cross. He is very kind and gentle, but let me know when I wasn't paying attention or wasn't connected. I started by brushing him and getting comfortable with him. After that we did lead work - me holding the lead and walking Chance. If you're not confident, if you're not showing you're connected, you're aware, the horse won't follow. And Chance could be stubborn at times. While walking, if my mind started to wander, he would stop. He wouldn't budge until I came back to him, put my hand on his neck, centered myself, and started again. He was very patient. I tried having him follow while off the lead, but he wouldn't have any of it.

Today, Chance was in a therapy group, so I had to choose a different horse. I walked up to several in the pen, and Jesse caught my eye. He was interested in me and thoroughly enjoyed having his forehead scratched. As I moved on to another horse, he followed me. So Jesse it was! He is more assertive than Chance, and more outgoing. Has a lot more spunk. We brought him to the outdoor pen where there were some mares in the field next to it. I took the lead off Jesse as he wanted to investigate the mares. He strutted and galloped and trotted around, huffing and looking all proud. Then he rolled in the dirt and came back to me. I brushed him and we started lead work. Jesse is a bit goofy but very focused and followed me, backed up for me, everything I wanted. I took him off the lead and he followed and did everything I asked. I was so amazed! What a fabulous feeling! Maybe it was because I was more confident, less nervous. Maybe I happened to connect more with Jesse. I'm not sure. But it was wonderful.

N, the gal who is the trainer and part owner working with me, and J, the therapist working with me, were both quite surprised and pleased that I worked so well with Jesse. Next week I'll be choosing between Jesse and Chance. I figure I'll see who I most connect with in the pen when I go.

I'm loving the equine therapy. I truly am. Any chance to be around and working with horses.

That's about all I got right now. I've got stuff on the back burner, but I'm waiting for inspiration to hit. More I want to write about, but I'm not sure how I want to go about doing it.

I wish I could cry. . . .

I wish I could cry. I need to. I want to. But I can't. I'm so devoid of any feeling I can't even cry. How sad is that? One of the hallmarks of depression . . .and I can't muster up even one tear. I want to cry, and at the same time, I don't even care.

I don't care what happens. I just don't. I don't feel and I don't care. What a sad, sorry place to be. I want to go to sleep and not wake up. All I want to do is sleep. When I sleep, I don't have to deal with how I feel and how I'm thinking. I don't have to deal with the emptiness and lack of feeling. I don't have to deal with anything.

My ability to cope is growing weaker every day I feel this way. I don't know what else to do to cope. Everything I've done doesn't seem to work. I'm going to start going to church. Hopefully that will help. I'm starting equine therapy. Hopefully that will help. But that, coupled with everything else I'm doing . . .if it's not enough, if my feelings don't improve . . .I don't know what I'll do.

No one can live like this for long. I can barely put on my mask anymore. I think I'm only convincing around my son - and that's shaky at best.

My meds better kick in. Something has to change. Something has to work. I only have so much fight left in me.

So many things

There's so many things that I want to write, that I want to say. So many things going through my head right now. I need to get it all out, get it all in writing, but it's as if I don't have the energy. Or the will. Or both.

I've been through so much over the last 6 weeks. So many things I never thought I'd experience. And I'm tired. And drained. And lost.

I'm still trying to recover from the emotional backlash of my overdose, ER visit, and hospitalization. I'm hoping each day that the medication changes will start making a difference, that all of the changes I've made will start making a difference. It has to happen soon. It has to.

I'm still numb. Numb to everything. I still don't feel. I wouldn't even say I'm necessarily depressed right now. I'm too empty and numb to even feel that. I'm a blank void of nothing. A husk. I don't feel and I don't care. It's a horrible place to be. I just . . .I don't care.

I woke up this morning feeling depressed, tired, empty, and unmotivated. I didn't want to do a thing except lay on the floor or the couch and not exist. I wrestled with this. I should go to the gym, I should sew, or draw or clean. I beat myself up for feeling like I was. So I decided to do nothing. I felt like doing nothing and so that's what I did. Nothing. And I felt good about it. And I napped. And this evening I felt a little better. Not as down, a little more hopeful.

But sadly, that didn't last long. By dinner time the numbness was back. The same familiar feeling that I can't seem to shake. I've grown weary of it. I'm doing everything I can to counteract it. Everything I can think of to change my thinking and behavior. I'm doing everything right. This Friday, in fact, starts my first horse assisted psychotherapy session. I don't know what else to do.

I'm still staying positive, as best as I can. And even though this post may sound doom and gloom-ish, I need to vent about how I'm feeling. I know things will change. I know they will. I just need them to change soon. I can't stand not feeling. I can't stand not caring. 

Been a bit

It has been a bit and a lot has happened since my last post. Most notably, I was hospitalized at an inpatient psych unit for suicidal ideation. I went voluntarily at the advice and recommendation of my psychiatrist and therapist. It was not an easy decision, and I spoke with them at length about it. And in the end, I went in.

I went in Sunday afternoon and was discharged Wednesday afternoon - I think my psych doc would have preferred another day or two, but I missed my son too much (they wouldn't let him visit). What was good about it was that Dr. C had his friend and trusted colleague Dr. S oversee my care while I was there (they both collaborated on it). It gave me a few days with no responsibilities and no stress.

Eventually I'll write more about all of this - I even journaled and took notes of people/behaviors there - but right now I'm still very exhausted. The last several weeks have completely drained me. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life.

In short, my meds were tweaked, I got a little bit of rest, I met some interesting people and had some good group therapy sessions. I'm still depressed - quite depressed - but I'm not having suicidal thoughts at all and no thoughts of self harm. It's still a long road ahead of me, but I'll get there (and hopefully my meds will start working soon).

More to come later.

I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore . . .

The last month has been exhausting, confusing. A cyclone of emotions that pull and tear at me, stripping me down to a blank husk of nothing. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what I feel anymore. . .

An overdose, an ER visit, nearly shattering my hand by putting it through the stone tile of my fireplace . . . Things I never thought would happen, places I never thought I'd arrive at . . . And I'm scared and I'm confused. And I don't know what to do.

I'm trying not to catastrophize but I'm also trying not to minimize what's happened. I'm trying to stay positive and derail negative thoughts. And all of this is so tiring. And I'm tired of fighting. And when you've felt so bad and so out of control for so long (over a year now), it's hard to see things ever getting better.

And still I push on. There's nothing else I can do. Regardless of how tired I am or how hopeless I feel or how badly I want to throw in the towel . . . I have to push on - my hubby and son are depending on me - they need me to push on.

I take things minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. I have to stay in the moment or I risk losing everything. I'm pushing on in hopes of better times, of stability, and of actually being able to feel again.

I don't even . . .

This first writing I wrote today. It explains yesterday a little, which was a VERY bad day. The section underneath, I had actually written yesterday morning but never published. I was going to write more to it but I wanted to shower before the dish network guys came over to install dish. And after my shower, that's when I lost it.

I won't use any trigger words - or at least I'll try not to. 

Yesterday was very bad. I broke down completely - crying harder than I think I ever have, VERY bad thoughts about hurting myself and worse. Very ACTIVE thoughts. I put my fist through the stone tile of our outdoor fireplace - surprisingly, I didn't fracture anything.

Instead of doing more, I was smart for once. I called my therapist and then my husband. My hubby picked up our son from school, came home and took me to the ER. That was the first time EVER I've gone to the hospital for wanting to do more than hurt myself. 

 And it was demoralizing. Put in a room with only a bed and a blanket. Huge window on the door and no way to open it from the inside. They took all of my clothes and belongings except for my chapstick and phone - and I was only allowed to keep them as long as my hubby was there. The nurse had to pull everything out of the bathroom and stand in there with me if I had to pee. I had a guard watching me at all times - I had to be in his view constantly. And keep in mind - this is the ER at the hospital I work at (I'm an RN), and I know these people. That was the worst part.

The ER doc was a dick and you could tell that he couldn't give a shit about what was going on. He just had to do his intake, order labs and a urine, and get the psychologist down to see me. And the faster he could do that and get outta there, the better. The psychologist was very nice, understanding and straight forward. I liked her. She talked to me alone for awhile and then both me and my hubby together. We made a plan so that I didn't have to be hospitalized (I was refusing that anyway).

I'm home now, and I'm safe. I feel a little better. I took a Nuvigil this morning (my "happy" pill - my upper), and it's helping. I'm still depressed, I still feel like crap - but I'm better than yesterday. I was started on Prozac last week and hopefully that will help. My primary doc and I are adjusting my thyroid meds again as I am once again hypothyroid (which might be the explanation of this horrid downward spiral over the last month). So, we'll see.

This is just all so frustrating. I don't seem to be getting better and I know it takes time to get the meds right, and life factors right . . .but it's so frustrating. We've been trying for a year now and I'm not much better. Hopefully it will change.

As long as I'm alive, I have hope. 

This part starts what I wrote yesterday morning and explains how I've been feeling.

It's amazing that I'm even writing. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like doing anything. I don't feel.

I don't feel. Hardly anything. Only emptiness, sorrow, hopelessness. I feel my depression. I feel the hurt and pain. I feel a hollow void. Nothingness. I'm flat. A shell. A husk. I'm no longer me. I don't care. I can't. I don't have enough in me to care.

Joy and happiness elude me. No contentment. No feelings of pride or warmth. No feelings of love. I look at my son, and I love him, with all my heart. But I don't feel it.

 Do you know how FUCKING SHITTY IT IS TO NOT FEEL THAT WARMTH AND LOVE FOR YOUR OWN SON? YOUR OWN HUSBAND?

I doubt it.

And this is the hardest thing I've ever experienced. I feel so horrible for it. Because I love them both so much and they're the only reason I'm still alive. If I didn't have them, if I lost them, I would kill myself. No questions asked.

Why. . . .

I'm not as depressed as I was 2 days ago . . .thank God for that. I'm not suicidal (though I still have the thoughts) . . .thank God for that. I want to hurt myself (hurt myself bad), but I haven't . . .thank God for that. I have an amazing hubby and son who love me and stand by me . . .thank God for that.

With all of these things to be thankful for, and countless others, why do I still feel like crap? I'm completely empty. Devoid of any feeling. I can't feel joy or happiness or love. All I am is flat and emotionless, save for irritability and anger. And sadness. I can feel sadness. And loss. And frustration. And hopelessness. But as for anything positive . . .the best I can do is to feel nothing.

We went horseback riding today. Something that I love. I love horses. Always have and I've always wanted to own horses. So anytime I can actually go riding . . .well, that's awesome! And so today we went because I thought it would lift my mood. It was supposed to lift my mood. And while I enjoyed my ride, it wasn't as pleasurable as it should have been, as it's been in the past. I was uncharacteristically  quiet and withdrawn. I didn't want to talk - I almost couldn't talk. I just couldn't feel. I was just . . .empty.

And this is horrible. It's a horrible feeling. My son gives me a huge hug and tells me he loves me and I say it back . . .but I feel hollow. Fake. I watch him play or act silly and I fake my smile. I put on my mask for him because I don't want him to know how sick his mommy is. I feel guilty enough that I don't feel what I think I should.

Here's where I'm stuck. Here's where I don't know what to do. I've been told that this will take time. And I get that. But it's been a year. And it's the same cycle. And it's frustrating. And I want to be done with it. And I need more help than I ask for . . .and I still don't want to ask. Because it's an endless cycle that's tiring for everyone and it's the same thing over and over and it doesn't change.

And so I still don't ask.

Almost hospitalized

This post is what I posted in my "diary" on an online bipolar support group I joined. I was going to write something a little different for here . . .but I'll be honest - I'm too exhausted to do that. So, enjoy. Though it's a bit heavy.

I'm not going to get emotional with this. At least not too emotional. Hell, who knows.

The last several days, weeks probably, have been bad. And getting worse. Two weeks ago I took pills. Not too many - 3 xanax, 2 ativan and one klonopin. I was unconscious for over 12 hours - it was considered an overdose though I didn't go to the hospital.   I talked with my therapist about it. He talked to my hubby about it. My pills are under my hubby's control and hidden. All the razor blades are gone. The keys to the gun safe are hidden. 

I kept telling myself that it was okay, it was no big deal, it happened so let's just move on and forget it.

But the depression got worse. I became more withdrawn, irritable, empty and hopeless. I tried to hide it. I did a good job until 2 days ago. I was too tired. Too mentally and emotionally exhausted to keep the facade up. I had to work, of course, and I did okay with my patients. I hid the rest of the time, avoiding coworkers. I was thankfully able to leave early last night to see my psychiatrist (let's be honest - if I didn't have someone to cover me, I would have left anyway).

My psych doc is starting me on prozac and trying to get me an appointment with a specialist in Boston. Which is fine. I'll try the prozac, and I'll go to Boston. Anything to make this feeling go away. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and not exist. I don't know why I can't just do that. Why can't I stop existing? The pain and the hollowness is too much. It's all too much. I'm at my breaking point and I don't know if I can go on. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of wearing my mask and pretending everything is okay when I'm crumbling inside. I'm tired of the pain and the emptiness and the anger and irritability. I'm tired of everything I've been going through.

So I'll take the prozac, and I'll go to Boston if I can get an appointment.

I had therapy today. And it was rough. I was in a very bad place this morning. And therapy was good . . .until I walked out the door. I lost it. Completely lost it. Leaning against the wall, sobbing. I couldn't control myself. My therapist walked out and found me. I, of course, tried to stop and hide it and convince him I was okay. He didn't buy it and suggested that I may need to be admitted. The tears poured again. I told him no. I pleaded no. I told him I'd be okay, I'm always okay, I always push on. I know I didn't convince him, but my hubby was home and he could keep watch, and so he let me go. I went into the bathroom and cried and cried until I was drained. I was so frustrated. I punched the wall. It's plaster. I punched it again. And again. It hurt like hell. I punched again. I did nothing more than take a small chunk of the plaster out . . .and bruise the hell out of my knuckles. Battle scars, I guess. 

After I composed myself, I went downstairs out to my truck. I sat there for awhile, staring blankly out the windshield. I opened the center console and pulled out the multi-utility tool and pulled out the knife. I turned it over in my hands, watching the sun glint of the sleek metal.  I pushed the tip of the knife into the tip of my pointer finger. I thought about using it as I spun it around, just shy of puncturing my fingertip. I could end the pain, it could stop. I wouldn't feel anymore . . . .

Except I don't want to die. I don't want to die. So I put the knife away and left. Dropped off my prescription and went home. And the rest of the day I've been trying to recover. And that's so hard to do and I'm so tired. And I'm hoping that tomorrow will be a better day. It has to be a better day because I can't go on like this much longer. I don't have the stamina, I don't have the drive. I don't have the will. 

I have to stay strong for my hubby and my son. I have to keep trying for them. They're the only ones keeping me alive.