I'm thinking this is going to turn into a mini rant. Let's be honest, I kinda know it is. Because writing is a good way to sort out my thoughts and get stuff off my chest.
I feel so weird. I'm not quite sure how else to describe it. I feel frustrated, restless, confused, conflicted, unsure, impatient, up, down, and everywhere in between. I'm fidgety and need to move but I feel stagnant and I can't or don't want to move. I'm in this strange limbo.
See, I've been feeling better. Pretty good for almost the last 2 weeks. It seems like the Welbutrin is kicking in and then I had my big "ah ha" moment in therapy about not wanting to get better. On the up and up. I even had a few days where I was hypomanic and felt really good. Big sigh of relief.
So why these mixed feelings . . . ? I have no idea how to "feel good" or "normal". It's foreign to me. I've been depressed or mixed for so long that I don't know stability. I don't know what to do or how to act or be or anything. It's unsettling. And, quite honestly, terrifying.
And how bizarre is that, really? I have no idea what it's like to feel happy. Just . . . happy. I used to know. I had a period of almost 6 years where I was stable and happy. When I first met J I was manic. Coming out of a horrible relationship and I had been out of control for about 3 months prior to meeting him. And he calmed me down. I don't know how, but he did. I slipped into hypomania, and then into "me". I was happy. I was content. I was who I was meant to be.
When we had been married for around 2 years, I became hypomanic. And I almost ruined my marriage. The depression that followed was bad and I was suicidal but I pulled through it. I saw a counselor at the college, we saw a marriage counselor a couple times, and I pulled through. I was stable again. I was me.
And then we decided to have a baby and I was pregnant the week I went off birth control. Literally. My pregnancy was hard for me. I hated it. Loathed it. My anger was through the roof and I was becoming depressed. And I hid this pretty well I think. After my son was born, the depression got worse. I downplayed it as much as I could, but by 5 or 6 weeks post partum I needed help. I saw my primary and was put on Lexapro (post partum depression the diagnosis).
The depression eased briefly, but, as insidious as depression can be, it came back. My meds would be increased or changed. Each time we changed or increased my meds, I was hypomanic for a week or two and then would slide back into depression. These brief periods of hypomania got me in trouble at work and had J wondering if I was bipolar.
When my son was about 3 (2010), my primary doc started to question me more deeply and suspected that I was bipolar. We added Lamictal to my Zoloft and I became highly hypomanic - so much so HR was involved because of my behavior. So I stopped taking it and tried to find a psychiatrist. I didn't find one accepting new patients until January 2012. The day after seeing Dr. C for the first time I only narrowly escaped slitting my wrists.
From January 2012 until now, today, I have been either severely depressed or mixed. I haven't felt like "me" since 2006. Seven years of not knowing what stability or consistent happiness feels like. SEVEN. FUCKING. YEARS. And two of those 7 years have been complete hell; a nightmare.
And yet I wonder why happiness feels foreign to me. I wonder why "feeling good" confuses me. I don't know how to be happy anymore. J and M say to "just be - you don't need to do anything. Enjoy it." I don't know how. I don't know how and it scares me. Is it any wonder I sabotage myself when I start to feel better (mostly subconsciously, lets get that straight)? Why would I want to get better when it feels so wrong and scary? Why not stay where it's comfortable and familiar?
Because it will kill me, that's why.
J misses the old me. The me that was carefree and happy. The me that was stable and didn't overdose or need to be hospitalized. And I want that me back - I really do. For J, for myself, and for my son. But I'm terrified of the process and I'm terrified I'll fail. I identified part of my problem and I'll be working on fixing it. But I start to feel better and it feels so strange and I don't know what to do because I don't want to go down the same path. I don't want to sabotage myself and I try just to be in the moment but my brain doesn't work like that. For all my artistic qualities, I'm analytical. I turn things over and over again in my mind. I overanalyze things. And I try not to over react or catastrophize days like today where I come home from a training class and cry because I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. And my mind automatically starts to cascade. So I put my foot down and say "NO. This is NOT what I'm doing. I am NOT going down this path again."
But see, I was starting to feel good again, and it confuses me and I feel strange and alien in my own skin. And my meds are starting to work, and I did identify a major problem so I should be good, right? I'm feeling better so I should be better. But I feel strange and alien and confused and scared and I beat myself up for that. I should just feel better. I should just feel happy. I shouldn't have this conflict because I know what's going on and I get frustrated. I get frustrated with myself and impatient that I'm not done with all this. I figured out the problem, I should be good!
The impatience and frustration and self deprecation breed shame and defeat and complacency. It breeds failure. And all of this feeds the depression and I'm back where I started. At the bottom trying to crawl my way out of the pit I just threw myself into, wondering what the hell just happened - I was starting to feel good!
I know all this. (Obviously - I just wrote it all out). And yet I do it. Over and over again. I'm trying to stop it today, at this very instant, by writing all this out. I can see this happening, right in front of me, and I'm terrified I can't stop it. I'm terrified that for all of my work and good intentions and insight I will fail and this cycle will continue. That it will continue until either J leaves me or I end up killing myself.
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