Ho boy . . .

I'm rather pissed right now. And near tears except I can't cry - no matter how hard I try to. Which is stupid and annoying and makes me even more mad. I need to fucking cry.

I'm stuck on this slippery slope again. I've gone over the top and down the side and I'm sliding. It's gravel and loose rocks and there isn't much to grab on to and I'm losing my footing. I'm scrambling, reaching out for anything to help stabilize me . . . but I seem to be sliding down further.

Meaning, the depressive feelings are coming back. And I'm having a much harder time keeping them at bay. I feel down all the time, flat, withdrawn. And irritable. Good GOD am I irritable. Though I'm still practicing being mindful and being in the moment, I don't feel any joy or happiness - just empty and irritable and down. I try to keep myself focused and busy and present. I try not to think about the past or the future. I try not to worry. But I keep sliding further down that slope.

I see M next week (after not seeing him last week or this week - too long for me to go between sessions), so I'm going to be talking to him about it. I don't know if I should make an appointment with Dr. C to try adding a different antidepressant or if I should keep waiting this out.

It's just annoying. Stop Cymbalt because of side effects (when I was finally feeling better) which threw me into a mixed episode. Coming out of the mixed episode to be left with the depression coming back. I really AM getting worried that this is how I'm going to be for the rest of my life - in a constant, losing battle with my moods.

And that's a scary thought.

You know what's annoying?

Me. That's what. Well, let's be more specific. It's not me - it's my bipolar. And more specific than that? My mood swings. See, I keep forgetting something - bipolar disorder is a disease. A progressive disease. And every day I have to fight for my right (no, not to party), but to live. I actually have to fight for my right to live. Some days that fight is easy - I don't even have to think about it. Everything flows beautifully. I'm happy and kind and easygoing and optimistic.

And then there are the bad days. The ones where the fight is an all out war over my mind and emotions and I'm hanging on by the skin of my teeth and nothing goes right and I'll never get better and why why do I have to keep doing this?? Those days . . .suck. And I'm so irritable on those days. Okay, let's be honest. I'm a raging bitch (good GOD my poor family!).

I have to remind myself that I'm going to have to deal with this for the rest of my life. Every day is different. Hell, every moment is different. And all I can do is cope and go along for the ride.

I've been getting in the habit of beating myself up over my bad days. This doesn't work. It isn't helpful. It makes things worse. So I'm trying hard to curb this habit and get back to mindfulness (which, by the way,  is a HELL of a lot harder to do now that I've been off the Cymbalta awhile). I've even caught myself catastrophizing certain things. Feelings and thoughts mostly. Mannerisms, ways of thinking. Even had the thought of "I just want to die" cross my mind. Squelched that one though.

What's frustrating too is the progressiveness of the disease. That with each major mood episode you tend to get worse. Each episode is worse, recovery takes longer. What a horrid thought that is! And the progressive bit I've noticed the most is cognition. I'm much more forgetful, easily distracted and I have trouble concentrating and staying focused.

I've also been more withdrawn. I don't have any desire to interact with people. I have to with coworkers and patients, but other than that . . . please, just leave me alone (well, including coworkers - I avoid them if I can). That's sad, isn't it? I don't know. Just one way I cope I suppose.

Let's mention something that's going well - all my horsey stuff! Working with Chance of course (who did AMAZING in the round pen with me yesterday - which is a statement about ME - if you've ever done work in the round pen with a horse you know what I'm talking about). And I have another lady I'm going to be working with for horsemanship. Bridling and saddling the horse, working on my riding form, basic care and feeding, etc. Lot's of good horsey stuff. Hopefully I can keep finding more good horsey stuff. Hopefully I can continue to carry over the lessons from the horses to my every day life.

And hopefully I can remember that each day is a new fight, and that I can neither win nor lose - I can only be.

Annoyed

Yep. I'm annoyed. Very . . . annoyed.

My main mood seems to be flat, withdrawn, indifference with no desire to interact with people and not much real happiness.

Like I'm going back to square one.

And it's very annoying. I had real genuine happiness horseback riding at the ranch and spending time with Cotton and J and the owner. I had real genuine happiness on our short vacation with J. And, VERY fleetingly, I may have real genuine happiness sporadically (maybe once or twice a day?).

But most of the time I'm just this stupid shell again. So, what changed? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. The big thing, of course, is stopping the Cymbalta. Which threw me into a mixed episode and made my moods all wonky. And by "wonky" I mean "rapid cycling bat shit crazy". Which makes it way more difficult for me to cope. So everything that I had been doing that was finally helping, isn't helping as much.

With the rapid cycling my diet kinda went to crap and I was skipping the gym. Most of the time. Now, I feel way better when I eat right and exercise regularly. So, I'm not doing this, so of course I'm not going to feel as good and I start feeling guilty about it and then I gain 8 pounds and that makes me feel worse and more guilty. Yep. Totally not helpful.

These are the things I came up with. It's not much, is it? But it's all I got right now - I can't pinpoint anything else. So yeah. Not sleeping well. Very distractable, difficulty concentrating and getting stressed more easily. Withdrawn, down, mostly flat, and I want to be left alone.

Pretty awesome.

Good weekend and mood slipage

I'm thinking this post will be relatively short. I don't much feel like writing.

Friday was my and J's 10th wedding anniversary! Yay! We celebrated by heading up to Breckenridge for the weekend. Walked the shops, ate out, had a couples massage . . . very nice. The highlight, of course, was horseback riding. We went to Platte Valley Double B Ranch - throwing that name out there because they are AMAZING!!! Absolutely LOVED it!! OMG. Not your typical horseback riding place. It's 8000 acres of privately owned ranch land. The owner and 2 wranglers took J and I out just, kinda, wherever. And it's not nose to tail riding. No. You fan out. You trot, canter, gallop. And you have no idea how freeing it was for me. How wonderful and relaxing and invigorating and so many other adjectives!

And when we got back to the stable after the ride I took the bridle off Cotton (my horse) and brushed her and fed her treats and chatted with the owner. She offered anytime I wanted to come up and just hang out, groom the horses, whatever, I was more than welcome to. And I'll take her up on that offer.

What's annoying now, is that my mood is moving south, and I don't know why. I'm getting very irritable and I feel like crying. For seemingly no reason. Hooray.

PENIS!

This post has nothing to do with penises. I just felt that that was an appropriate title.

Or not.

Let's dive right in, shall we? On Friday, I worked with Chance (therapy horse). My mind was racing and I had to speak deliberately and slowly. If I didn't, my words jumbled together because they were coming out so fast. I felt withdrawn and irritable. So I didn't really do much with Chance. I was just . . .there. I groomed him. Meticulously. He had a huge knot in his mane and I spent quite a bit of time combing it out. I talked with the therapist (Ju) and my trainer (N) while doing this. Trying to relay my state of mind and the struggles I've been having with mania. I tried to lead Chance, but I couldn't - I couldn't clear my mind and focus. So I stood there with him and brushed him, leaned on him, and was there with him. Ju and N suggested that I put my hands on him and count his breaths. I couldn't. Numbers made my brain move faster. So instead, I leaned against him, my whole body, and laid my head on his side. I tried to match my breathing with his. And I could, and my mind slowed, and I felt like crying. I felt like curling into a ball and crying.

But I didn't. I talked some more and my words came easily. I didn't have to think about each one before I spoke it. And I felt better. When I left, I made it about half a mile before I had to pull over. I was crying so hard I couldn't see. I sobbed, big, ugly, wailing sobs for 15 minutes. Horrible sobs wracked with anguish. I let them come. I think I needed it. Though I don't know why. It took me another 10 minutes or so after crying before I felt I could drive home.

The rest of the day I felt pretty crappy. And Saturday I felt crappy. Down and very irritable. More stable - not rapid mood swings like I've been having - but still crappy. And Sunday, better, stable, still irritable.

And today I've felt . . .I don't know how I've felt. Irritable as fuck. Impulsive and saying a few inappropriate things. Down. I feel again like I want to cry. I'll perk up suddenly with crazy energy and say bizarre things and then I'm back down - as if nothing at all happened. I mean within minutes.

So this has been stupid. I work the next 2 days and then it's mini vacation time in Breckenridge complete with an awesome horseback riding day. This will be good.

In other news, I'm going to slowly introduce a few select sources of gluten back into my life. Mainly whole grain breads, some baking flours. Here's the thing - I feel better physically, I do - but I think that has more to do with the fact that I'm cooking our meals from scratch - not from being gluten free. I've had regular bread twice with no noticeable side effects. I'm having regular bread again tomorrow. If I continue to not have side effects, then I will have select sources of gluten. I will continue, of course, to cook our meals from scratch.

Well, that's all for now. Time to finish my ice cream, fart around on Pinterest, and go to bed.

Some shit . . .

So. The hypomania thing. Getting old. Hear that Clancy? Fucking stop it. (Clancy is my brain btw, for those that don't know). It's getting bad at times. Bad.

For example, over the weekend I was at work and charge nurse. Saturday I was mostly just hyper and joking around. All fine and good. Sunday . . .yeah. Sunday was not good. I was hyper again, sure, and it escalated from there. I told one of the physicians to drop his pants so I could spank him. I said this in front of other nurses. Loudly. Who. The fuck. Does that? And I continued on. More inappropriate things were said. My only saving grace was that I had already been joking around with the labor nurses (who were around me) and that I BS with this particular physician all the time. Otherwise? This could have been bad. Very bad.

But that's not all. After that I skipped through the hallways on labor and delivery and post partum. Skipped. I was skipping y'all. All over the fucking place. Then, at the front desk on post partum I was joking with the CNA. A social worker who I've known for years came around, showing a new social worker our area. I was eating a granola bar. Half of it fell off and onto the floor. God fucking dammit!! That's what I yelled. Yelled. The social worker laughed and said "I can't believe you just yelled that!" Me? "I don't fucking believe it either!" Then I started laughing. Uncontrollably. I collapsed to the floor I was laughing so hard. I couldn't talk. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop.

Everyone watch the train wreck. I crawled to the hallway behind the front desk where my locker is. All I had was a Xanax. I hadn't put any Risperdal in my purse - I didn't think I would ever need one. So all I had was Xanax. I took it sublingually and went into my office. I sat, breathing deeply, trying to center myself, calm myself, get myself back in control. It was hard. And I was scared. My behavior was so erratic, so inappropriate . . . it was not good. The last thing I need to do is get in trouble at work.

And then today. I had therapy today. Yesterday and today I had been feeling pretty blah, flat and subdued. Cranky and irritable as hell, but otherwise subdued. I chalked it up to having a bit of a cold. So I'm talking to M, telling him about how I feel detached from my mom. Whatever. I start telling him about the weekend and the hypomania. And I start escalating. I start getting manic. Distractable. I'm talking and wait is there a guy yelling outside? Where's that van going? Look it's still raining. Oh my nose itches. What was I saying? Oh yeah <rapid vomiting of words with wild hand movements> And I tried to reel it in, I did. I tried to stop, I did. And I was having a hard time. I laughed hysterically at nothing. Nothing at all. I couldn't stop.

I finally lowered my head, near tears, because I didn't know what to do. M helped me focus, helped me breathe. I focused on Chance (my therapy horse). It helped. Greatly. Chance will be my anchor. My family is my anchor for the depression, Chance for the mania.

This is . . .too much. After the mania comes almost crippling exhaustion. And irritability. And a feeling of fear and depression and hopelessness and despair. But the exhaustion. Holy fuck. Complete and utter physical, mental and emotional exhaustion. I want to cry and pass out. And then I get pissed. And even more tired. And then comes the mania again.

This happens numerous times a day. Rapid cycling is a bitch. This is not fun. I've gotten good a being mindful and managing the depressive symptoms, but this is a whole other animal. It's harder. Partly because when I'm manic I feel good. And I've felt shitty for so fucking long that I really want - really deserve - to feel good. And so it's harder to manage it before it gets out of control.

And there's other things. I have the Ridperdal (which I have some in my purse now, lest I have another day like Sunday). But I thought about taking it all, just to see what would happen. What the fuck do I think would happen??? I would die!! The fuck?! But that thought was there and it was tempting. Easily managed and controlled, but it was there.

Some old thoughts and habits are trying to creep back in as well. Patterns of thinking. In my current state of rapid cycling I find that it's much more difficult to combat this. Ugh. There's crap happening at work that is a bit shady and unfortunate and I'm trying desperately to react appropriately and not overreact. It's difficult. If I get worked up and upset over it . . . well, that leads to the hyper-irritability and hypomania.

Fuck this shit.

Oh, and I cuss more when I'm like this. That might be obvious.

Alright. That's all I can muster up right now. I'm exhausted yet wide awake. Joy.

Awkward . . .

I'm not sure how I want to start this post. The good stuff? The funny stuff? The not so funny stuff? Ahhh well, here we go.

So I'm off the Cymbalta, right? And I went through withdrawals, right? And now I'm apparently having a rebound rapid-cycling mixed episode. Thank you Lord Jesus for making my life hell.

That was sarcasm. Thought I'd make that clear.

My mood is everywhere, though it tends to gravitate towards outright hypomania or extreme, ridiculous irritability (with some depressive symptoms thrown in for good measure). Or it's a combo of all that at once. Or I cycle through all of those many times a day. Along with racing thoughts, pressured, rapid speech, inappropriate language/outbursts, impulsiveness, and extreme sexiness.

That last one isn't actually a symptom. It's wishful thinking.

So I do fun things like tell a patient's husband to stick a wheelchair up his ass or act like a complete bitch-beast around my hubby. Or I dye my hair on a whim without even paying attention to what color I bought (I'm chocolate brown now, btw). Or, on the same shopping trip I  come upon some turkey lunch meat and say, out loud, "motherfucking turkey! I need some motherfucking turkey, fuck yeah!" Or I'm so irritable at work that I say "fuck" a lot (not around patients, thank God for small favors), and feel like throwing the computers through the walls.

And then I don't sleep. Well, that's not true. I've been getting around 3 hours a night - though not all at one time. That doesn't help. Although last night I managed to get 7 and I feel worse that when I get 3.

And THEEEEEEEN, I sing the "Log" song from Ren and Stimpy to my therapist. Totally did that today. Also? If you don't know what the "log" song is, look it up. It's stupid and awesome at the same time. And I sang it to my therapist!! To be fair though, he did ask me if I ever watched Ren and Stimpy. So I sang the song. And we laughed. And the session went downhill from there.

In a good way. Kinda. The rest of the hour (okay, 50 minutes), was spent laughing. Literally just laughing. At my idiocy. At patients. At terms like "meat curtains" to describe a vagina (I offered up that little gem - a story for another time). It. Was. Fun.

But . . .a bit strange. See, when our time was about up, M stated that it was about the bewitching hour (what he says every time our time is up), and then said "thank God for that". I piped up "well that was rude" (still laughing about previous things) followed by "actually, that was fucked up." It was a very . . .I don't know, disconcerting moment. A bit off, or strange, or different. He said, "I appreciate your honesty." But that's not the only thing. I got the feeling like he had to rein both myself and him back in. That we were acting and talking more like friends, rather that therapist and client, and he recognized this and had to put an end to it - quick.

Which I get. It's not a therapeutic relationship if you don't have boundaries and guidelines. And today, there were no boundaries or guidelines. It honestly was two friends chatting and laughing and shooting the shit.

So he reined it in at the end and tried setting those boundaries again. Which in that few seconds was actually hurtful to me. Necessary, but in a small way hurtful. Which is dumb. Because he is my therapist and we need those boundaries to have that therapeutic relationship.

I'm going to ask him about it next week though. I'm curious as to his take on it, and if what I sensed (and wrote above), is true.

In the meantime I get to continue to deal with my stupid mixed episode. Hooray!