New pdoc?

I'm planning on switching pdocs. I was a bit displeased with mine at my last appointment.

(To refresh your memory, she told me that meds won't work on me and that sometimes people have a black cloud over them and are suicidal all the time and you just have to get used to it)

That rubbed me the wrong way. And by "rubbed me the wrong way", I mean pissed me off, had me sobbing, and stole away any hope I still had left of managing my depression. I couldn't believe she told me that. I mean, even if she was thinking that she shouldn't have told me that. Not when I'm depressed, suicidal, and losing hope on my own.

Not the best thing to say.

Hubby and a couple of my friends have told me to find another pdoc. That what she said was unacceptable. That it seems she's throwing in the towel. Meds won't work on you.

I am torn though. I keep thinking, what if this is all me? What if meds won't work for the depression and that I do just need to do more trauma work? What if this is a situational type of depression, that I have to buckle down and plow through and it's all on me?

What if?

What if I'm changing pdocs because I basically didn't like what she had to say? Maybe changing pdocs won't help anything. Maybe the new one will say the same thing. Maybe I'm just chasing meds, looking for the easy way out.

I look back at myself over the last 3 years, trying to see patterns, trying to see what I'm doing right and what I could improve on. I'm trying to be open and bluntly honest with myself. I need to be if I'm going to get stable.

One thing Ive noticed (and I picked up on this about a year and a half ago) is that once I start to get better I'll be better for a couple of months and then relapse. I get depressed again. And a year and a half ago M (therapist) and I discussed this. We talked at length my "not wanting" to get better. We worked through it, we found and worked through a few triggers, and having me identify this flaw within myself had curbed that tendency to self sabotage.

And I look back and I see no self sabotage for my mania (and hospitalization) last November, no self sabotage for my suicidal depression (and hospitalization), last December, and no self sabotage for my suicidal depression (and hospitalization), last May. I find no trigger, no form of self sabotage - it just happened.

July and August this year I was starting to become more stable. In October I started to slide, by November I was down and getting worse, and December has been horrid. I know I had one trigger: a piece of Al-Anon literature I read on forgiveness. It gave me icky feels. I worked through these feels in Al-Anon, in therapy, and with my hubby. I worked through them. I laid them to rest.

Now, knowing that was a trigger, I was doing all the proper things to counter the emotional response. I talked about it, I journaled my feelings and thoughts, I countered my negative thoughts, I didn't catastrophize, I did everything right.

I worked through it. I felt better about it, and felt that I had nothing more to say on the matter.

Several weeks later is when I really started to spiral. I did all of my CBT stuff that I've learned about, I talked to hubby and in therapy. I didn't let myself isolate - I forced interaction. Again, doing everything right.

So what the hell is going on?? Did I have a PTSD trigger that threw me into a bipolar mood episode? Is this just PTSD? Is this just a bipolar shift with no real trigger? Does it really matter?

Because here in lies the rub: I'm doing all my CBT things, I'm trying to stay present, stay in the moment, take it day by day (sometimes moment by moment), counter my errors of thinking, not isolate, trying to "fake it till I make it" . . . all the things I should be doing.

But they're not helping.

They should be helping. If this was all me, all PTSD, all a trigger, then this shit should be working. And it's not. M pointed out that that one Sunday at work where I was crap and laid on the floor for 2 hours because I was suicidal and didn't know what else to do was most definitely not a trauma issue - it was most definitely a chemical imbalance issue.

If all my behavioral therapies are not working that would lead to a chemical problem, right? So meds, right?

But my pdoc won't prescribe me anything else because she believes this depression is all trauma, all in my head. That if I do more trauma work I'll be fine.

I don't even know what to talk about trauma wise anymore. I really don't. We've gone over my abusive relationship and rape. We've gone over my dad's death. We've gone over stuff with my (alcoholic) mom several times. I don't what else to say on these matters. I have no idea. I don't even know what to say in Al-Anon anymore (I've been silent the last three sessions cause I have nothing to add).

So what more trauma work do I need to do??

There's only one area I see where I need more work: fake it till I make it. I've been faltering in this area. Why? Because it's hard to pretend to be positive, to be okay, to be well, to be not depressed. It takes so much energy and it's so much easier to give into the depression. It's better for me to fake it, it is. But I've been so tired lately, the past few weeks, that it's gotten harder. It's easier to give in. To not fight. See, part of me wants to give up. I'm tired of fighting my moods everyday. I'm tired of the knowledge that I'll do this for the rest of my life. It's too much to handle and so I'm slacking on forcing myself to seem okay (even when - especially when) I'm completely broken on the inside.

What the fuck do I do? Change pdocs I guess, see what the new one has to offer. I don't know. I don't even know. This is all very frustrating as fuck.

Also? I've noticed that since I've been on 600mg of seroquel my cognition is suffering. I forget letters in words or add extra letters, it's taking longer for me to think things through, to respond. Joy.

Bit of a conundrum

Yes. I'm facing a conundrum.

Remember how my hope went *poof*? Well. I decided to try something. See, I'm not all that hopeful that increasing my seroquel is going to do anything for the depression. I'm not hopeful at all, actually.

So I did something.

Last night I skipped taking my seroquel.

Yep. I didn't take it. And I didn't sleep. Maybe 3 hours? Maybe? And this morning I was wide awake and felt deliciously hypomanic. Well, not too high actually - just good. Awake, good, even.

And then I got tremors - like, bad. And some anxiety.

We went to my mom's house this morning to do Christmas there as I work tomorrow (xmas). My brother and his family was there, hubby's mom and brother, and it was okay.

We were there for 2 hours and towards the end my mood was starting to plummet. Probably a combo of lack of sleep and extended family time. Right?

I've been working on my book this afternoon, actually accomplishing something, getting a little more direction with it.

My mood right now is weird. I'm a little anxious and feel . . . weird. Just, weird. I feel a little down, empty, tired, dizzy almost, lightheaded at times, and there's some irritability creeping in. The depression isn't as pressing as it normally is, which is nice, but it's certainly not gone. But I have some of the underlying hypomania.

My conundrum: do I skip the seroquel again and see what happens? See if I get more hypo? Or do I take it as prescribed, like a good girl, and hope that 600mg lifts my depression?

I work tomorrow, so if I skip the seroquel again, and get more hypo . . . well, it could be decidedly not good. But I have klonopin in my purse to knock me down.

I keep thinking that I should be good, I should be compliant and take my meds as prescribed. I mean, Mary told me not to stop the seroquel (or any med on my own). And I know better. I know better than to just to stop taking a med. Especially cold turkey. When I skipped doses of geodon I had rebound depression - bad. Would that happen with missing another dose or 2 of seroquel? Or hypomania? Or mixed?

I want to miss another dose, but I'll admit - I'm scared to.

I was originally put on an antipsychotic for mania - I was hospitalized a year ago November for that. And, I really haven't had mania since then (well, I've had some of the irritable hypomania sporadically, or an hour or two of slightly euphoric mania). But for the most part? Nothing. Depression.

I had a brief 2 month span this past summer where I felt pretty stable. Then boom - horrid depression again.

So what do I do? Stop seroquel on my own against the advice of my psych doc (and therapist)? Or keep taking it and hope against hope that the increased dose helps?

Gaaaaaaahhhhh!!! I hate this! Why can't shit just work?

Fuck me.

Today I should have gone to the hospital

I worked today. I was on the floor, backup for trans. I had easy patients. Nice patients. It should have been a nice day. An easy day.

It wasn't.

I knew this morning when I woke up that today would be difficult. I knew I would struggle. I just didn't know how much . . .

I avoided people. Coworkers, my patients even. Go into a room, do what I needed, and get out. I was irritable. I was angry. I didn't want to be bothered. People asked questions. Questions I'm sick of answering. Have you sold your house? When are you moving? Where are you moving to?

I don't. Fucking. Know.

And I'm tired of everyone asking.

Wait.

It's a simple thing. It's not a big deal. People are curious, interested, caring. Making conversation.

But it filled me with rage. I couldn't handle the questions so I withdrew a little more. I gave short answers.

In the afternoon I hid.

I stole away to the report room, sat in a chair in the corner behind the door so people wouldn't see me. That only lasted for half an hour before I got a call from a patient. I left my chair, my temporary sanctuary, to bring my patient pain meds.

I had brought my Nook with me so I decided to try reading. Reading should help, right?

Normally it does. Not today though. Not today. Today I couldn't really focus. After a few pages I would have to take a break. Walk, stretch, check my email. I couldn't focus. I couldn't focus why can't I focus what the hell . . .

My mood was worsening. I grade myself on a scale of 1-10. Five is "normal". Below is moving into depression, above into mania. I started the day at a 3.5. Yes. By 4:00, I was a 2, threatening to go lower. Ever lower.

It can't go lower.

It was. I hid. I hid in the report room again. It was dark in there, the sun was already going down and I left the lights off. I wanted the dark, the quiet. I wanted no one.

Leave me alone.

The charge nurse came in. She didn't know I was sitting there, alone, in the dark. I said boo. She jumped and immediately asked if I was okay.

No. I'm not okay. I'm far from okay.

She offered to take my patients and send me home.

I'll be alright. I'm not okay, but I'll be alright. I can last the rest of the shift. It's only 2 hours. I can do it.

She took my face in her hands and told me to let her know if I needed anything.

Wait. I need help.

Wait.

She left and I sat in the dark, alone. I started to shake, to tremble, lip quivering, tears welling up. I wept. Silently. I tried to stop. I can't have someone catching me crying. Sitting alone in the dark is one thing . . . but crying . . . no.

I stopped crying and I sat, drying my tears, blowing my nose as quietly as I could.

I felt worse. So much worse.

I need to lie down.

I laid down on the floor, in the shadows, behind the door. No one could see me if they were just walking by. Perfect.

Wait.

I was worse. I felt worse. I'm lying on the floor alone in the dark at work and no one knows I'm here and they don't know how bad I feel how bad I've gotten again and that I'm lying here and what I really want to do is die but I can't do that not here not at work and maybe not anywhere but I still kinda want to die and why isn't anyone looking for me?

My mind was racing, I was praying. Please, someone, anyone, find me. Find me and HELP ME. I need HELP don't you understand I NEED HELP!! Someone. Please . . .

Stop.

If someone finds me, if they ask me, I need help. I need to go to the hospital. I want to swallow all of my pills and slit my wrists and  want to go to sleep and not wake up and I know that that's not what I really want. What I really want is for the pain to stop. The pain to fucking END ALREADY.

I'm lying on the floor at work in the dark, hidden from everyone, praying, praying, PRAYING and no one comes. No one comes into the report room. I'm on my side, curled in a ball, full of despair and hopelessness and I start to cry again because no one is coming and no one is helping me and please just someone come and help me because I'm afraid I might hurt myself and it might be real bad this time and I'm scared. No, I'm terrified. My mind races with scenarios of my death and how I might be saved if someone would just FUCKING COME INTO THE ROOM.

But no one does.

I'm miserable. I text my husband. I tell him it's bad, I'm having a rough day, I'm hiding. I don't let on how bad it is because I don't want him to worry. I make him worry so much and I don't want him to worry because I'm okay, really, I'll be okay, I'm fine actually. Just fine.

Stop.

You're not fooling anyone. At least, not yourself. You need to get up. You've been on the floor for 2 hours.

Get up.

I can't. I need to stay longer. Someone may find me and I can get help. I need help. Remember?

Get up.

I sit up. I feel defeated. I feel empty and hopeless and scared and depressed and I don't want to move but I have to move I have to check on my patients and no one is coming to check on me so I have to get up.

Get up.

I stand. I look into the hallway to make sure no one is around while I make my way to the bathroom to clean myself up. I need to be presentable. People can't know that I was crying. That I was silently breaking down and losing my shit while they were doing their work and being happy and normal and not looking for me or helping me because apparently I still do a good job of hiding my suicidal thoughts and depression and no one seems to be the wiser.

Wait.

I check on my patients. They're fine. I was on the floor for 2 hours and they didn't call me and they didn't need anything and they're fine. I sit in the nurses station staring at my phone, scrolling through facebook, trying not to think about how much I hate life and how much I really want to die and then countering my thinking because I know I really don't want to die, remember? You want the pain to stop. You want to not feel like this anymore.

Please.

My shift ends. I give report. I drive home. I tell my husband if I have another day like today I need to be admitted. I need to go to the hospital.

I don't want to go to the hospital. Not again. Please not again.

Help.

 I feel empty and drained and horrifically sad and hopeless and it's maybe more than I can handle. Is it more than I can handle? I wish I knew. And how will tomorrow be? The same? Worse? Better?

Stop.

I wrote this. Before going to bed because if I didn't write this it would consume me and I wouldn't be able to sleep and my mind would probably race even more and I can't have that, not now. Now I need to sleep. It's the only real escape I have.

And Then My Hope Went *poof*

That's exactly what my hope did.

*poof*

Gone. Lost somewhere in the stratosphere, floating around, uncatchable.

Or it's in the trash. I'm not sure at this point. (Floating around in the stratosphere sounds sexier though).

Why did my hope go *poof*? Well, I saw my psychiatrist, Mary, on Wednesday. And . . .

Wait. Let's back up a minute.

I want to recap what's been going on, in case you haven't read any previous posts. I'm depressed again. It's bad again. I have suicidal ideation on most days. I want to cut and I have. I alternate between wanting to die or wanting to not exist. It feels as though everything is being ripped from me again - I was starting to get stable over the summer and now everything is crashing down around me, hundreds of thousands of tiny shards and there's no way I can possibly pick them all up again. And every time I shatter like this, I miss a few pieces. Or a hundred pieces. Each time I break it's harder to collect those pieces, those shards, and this time they seem to be scattered further.

Okay. Back to Mary.

I sat in the waiting room doing a word search on my phone, feeling irritable and depressed. Surprisingly, I didn't have to wait long to be called back. Mary has a psychiatric nurse working with her who starts the intake - she gets my weight, blood pressure, and starts asking me questions. How are you doing? Bad. I'll go with that - the opposite of good. What's been going on? My depression is continuing to get worse. Five weeks ago Mary increased my seroquel and I haven't noticed any difference. I have suicidal thoughts more days than not. Do you have a plan? Yes. But I have no intent. Can you contract for safety? Sure. When was the last time you cut? This morning (I proceed to roll up my left sleeve). What's been going on the last few weeks? How's home? Work? Nothing has changed. Work is busy, home is fine. No triggers that neither I nor my therapist can identify.  Any hallucinations? No.

She typed everything I was saying, went over my meds, and brought me back to Mary's office. I liked Mary when I saw her 5 weeks ago. I liked her more than Chika (she works with Mary and is who I've been seeing since June).

Mary is reading everything her nurse wrote about me. I sit down. She looks up at me over the rim of her glasses. Cami, right? Yes. Seems like you're not doing to well. Tell me about the suicidal thoughts.  Um, well, I have ideation more days than not. I think mostly right now of slitting my wrists. Before it was always an overdose, but not now. I've had 3 days in the past 5 weeks that I probably should have gone to the hospital. But I'm stubborn and I didn't want to go - I wanted to try and manage it on my own. My therapist was a little mad at me because 1. I didn't go in, 2. I didn't call or email him (but he was in Italy on vacation and I didn't want to bother him), and 3. I didn't call you to let you know.

Before she asks another question I pull a piece of paper from my purse - the results of my genetic testing - and hand it to her. As far as my current meds go, my dosing is fine (the genetic testing was for medication metabolism - so, for example, if you're a high metabolizer for such and such a class, you'd need a lower dose of that drug).

Mary is looking at the results and to her computer screen. Results. Computer screen. Then she looks at me. You've been on a lot of meds. I know. She sighs. I don't think meds are going to help your depression. Look - you've been on so many and none of them has really helped, at least not more than a few weeks. Meds aren't going to help. I stare at her. The force of what she just said hits me hard and I'm speechless.

Wait. No.

Meds aren't going to work? You're telling me meds aren't going to work? (I think this, rather than say it).

She continues. Have you ever considered ECT? (I'm staring again). It can be very successful in treating depression. I haven't really thought about it for myself. Seriously, at least. It's just . . . the memory loss associated with it. Not such a good thing when you're a nurse. I'd have to be on leave for the entire duration of treatment (3-6 months). That's true. Have you heard about EMDR? Yes. You have a lot of trauma in your past, EMDR would be beneficial. I already do trauma work with my therapist. His specialty happens to be trauma. We're just moving at a snail's pace because it can be so triggering. My session last week was crisis intervention because of my depression. But we've been working on trauma. Okay, good. Have you heard of DBT? Dialectal behavioral therapy? There are group DBT sessions that you may want to look into. You learn coping skills and ways to manage your emotions. Okay . . . You could also look into neurofeedback. What's neurofeedback? You have electrodes placed on your head to measure your brain waves and then you learn how to change your brain wave pattern.  Oh. Okay. Do you give me referral? How does that work?

I'm almost in a trance at this point. My head is reeling. I'm going into shutdown mode. Meds aren't going to help your depression. You don't understand Mary. I need meds to work for me. They have to work for me. I've been doing everything right. I'm trying my hardest. I'm fucking trying and I need a little help here!

She continues. You'll need to research groups nearby and contact your insurance company to see if they cover these treatments. Some companies do, most don't. You do need to work through your trauma. I think that will help. It complicates things. Okay. (I nod. I'm on the verge of tears. I'm trying desperately not to cry). She looks sternly at me. You know, sometimes people have this black cloud around them their whole lives and it never gets better. Maybe they have suicidal thoughts all the time and they're just there. It doesn't go away. 

I'm staring again. I wouldn't doubt that my mouth dropped open a little bit. You're sitting here telling me that this won't get better. Meds won't work. Here are a few therapies you could try that may or may not help and that insurance probably won't cover but I'm trying to give you something to grasp for because let's face - nothing has worked before so probably nothing will work now, either. The same person telling me this told me 5 weeks ago that I didn't have to feel depressed - that we would find something that works and we can manage the depression better and don't give up because I'm hopeful that you'll get better soon.

This is not okay.

She must have read my face, my thoughts, my posture. Look, you should be proud of yourself! Look how far you've come! You're doing every possible thing you can do to get better. You're doing everything right. Okay. How about we try increasing the seroquel to 600mg? Maybe you just need more. Maybe your body needs a higher dose for the antidepressant effects. (I nod. I'm not hopeful. You told me meds won't work, yet we're going to increase a med that you don't think will work. Are you trying to placate me?) Okay. We'll try that for 4 weeks and I can even increase it to 800mg in 4 weeks if we want to try that. But we'll try 600mg for now. Look into DBT group and neurofeedback. And have a Merry Christmas! Okay.

I nod. I'm in disbelief. I make my way to the front desk and make my follow up appointment. The tears are threatening. I make it to my truck before I completely break down. I sat for 10-15 minutes sobbing. Uncontrollable sobbing full of pain and despair and frustration.

That was not what I was expecting from that appointment. Well, increasing the seroquel I expected. But not to be told that meds probably aren't going to work, aren't going to help, and we're kinda at the end of the line so maybe you should look into ECT because there really isn't much more out there for you. I was looking for hope, and I didn't get that. The thin strand of hope I'm desperately holding on to is unraveling.

And it fucking sucks.

I'm looking into DBT and neurofeedback. I'm going to discuss them with my therapist (I don't see a huge difference between DBT and what I've learned doing CBT with my therapist).

All I want is for something to work. I don't think that's too much to ask.

I've two docs tell me I need to sort through my trauma stuff and I have been. And even though I have been, I still can't identify triggers (I know some, and I can counter them so I don't have such a large emotional response, but I don't know most).

So I went up to 600mg of seroquel Wednesday night. Yesterday morning and this morning were hard to wake up to - for many weeks now I've been having a progressively harder time waking up simply because I don't want to be awake - but jumping from 400mg to 600mg seems to have made me more drowsy in the morning (hopefully that will go away).

The only thing I can do is to keep trying. At least my stubbornness comes in handy with this. My therapist had told me that as long as I'm breathing, there's hope.

I'd like to believe him.

So I want to kill myself . . .

I really do. . . at times.

Like yesterday. Yesterday was bad. Yesterday I wanted to slit my wrists and watch the blood flow. Watch the blood flow and feel myself weakening as I slip into darkness.

But I didn't. You know why?

Because deep down I know that I don't truly want to die. What I want is for the pain to stop. For my constant up and down (mostly down) to stop.

Here's a story:

Friday night I forgot to take my meds. I usually take them around 8-8:30. Well, I didn't. But when I went to bed at 10, I didn't realize I hadn't taken them because I'm so used to taking them at that time. I've been late taking my seroquel before and I typically have insomnia, tremors, nausea, night sweats, and racing thoughts until I take it (even if I'm 2 hours late taking it I have these symptoms). Friday night I had insomnia - I only got around 3-4 hours of sleep. But I had no other symptoms until 6am - I didn't figure out until then that I had forgot my meds (after having the other symptoms, I counted my seroquel and yep - forgot it).

Of course I worked Saturday. All morning I rapid cycled. I'd have depression with racing thoughts, poor concentration, and irritability. Then my mood would lift and I'd feel okay, I'd giggle a little, and become very talkative. Then my mood would plummet and be mixed again.

This happened until around 3. At 3 I became hypomanic. Euphoric hypomanic. I felt amazing. I laughed so much. I laughed at everything and nothing. I talked rapidly and became highly excitable. I had racing thoughts. I said inappropriate things. I was loud, and at times obnoxious. I cussed. A lot. In my hailstorm of activity and loudness and giddiness, I told numerous people that I was bipolar and didn't take my meds (people didn't need to know that).

But I felt amazing. Like I could conquer the world.

When I got home from work I was still giggling and talkative, but my lack of sleep was starting to catch up to me (in retrospect, this was probably good - if I had gone higher, or if it lasted longer, I may have needed to be hospitalized).

I had a great day. A wonderful, amazing, and happy day. Because I didn't take my meds. So I rationalized that maybe I should stop my meds. At least the seroquel. Now, seeing how my judgement was probably clouded, I asked my hubby and my best friend if I should take my meds. They both said yes, take your damn meds. Don't be a noncompliant idiot (my friend's words).

So Saturday night I took my meds like a good girl. I went to bed around 10. Hubby came to bed around midnight to find me unable to sleep, plagued by racing thoughts. My whole body hurt because I was so tired and my mind was going so fast. He had me take a benadryl to try and help me fall asleep, and an hour after I was able to sleep. I slept until 9am (I'm usually up by 7).

I woke up knowing something was wrong. Knowing something was off. Knowing that it was going to be a bad day.

I awoke depressed. I tried to hide and ignore it. I tried all day to hide and ignore it. How could I possibly feel so bad after having a day where I felt so good??

Throughout the day I felt increasingly more depressed. My thoughts became darker. I wanted to cut. I needed to cut - but I didn't. I tried to keep my anger in check, even as it swelled and threatened to consume me. I didn't want to be around anyone - including hubby and son. I didn't want to interact with anyone - including texting friends.

I thought more about slitting my wrists.

After putting my son to bed I broke down sobbing. I couldn't take it anymore. It was the ugly cry where your snot gets everywhere and was filled with utter despair and hopelessness.

I can't go on like this.

I told hubby that. I can't. I can't do this anymore. It's too hard. It's not fair. How can anyone possibly think that I can keep this up??

Over the past 3.5 weeks I've had suicidal ideation on more days than not. There have been 3 instances where I probably should have gone to the hospital (last night, honestly, was one of them - I really wanted to slit my wrists and I was feeling impulsive). I'm doing everything right. My therapist pointed that out as well - I'm doing everything I'm supposed to be doing. All the CBT stuff I've learned in therapy - I'm applying it. I want to isolate - I'm forcing myself to interact. I'm staying busy rather than just staring at the ceiling or sleeping (which is what I want to do).

And yet I continue to get worse.

I see my psychiatrist on Wednesday. I'm guessing she'll increase my seroquel again. To either 500 or 600mg. Then probably another month of "let's wait and see if this helps at all". I'll be curious to see what she has to say about the suicidal ideation (my therapist was a little annoyed that I didn't call her office to let her know about the suicidal thoughts - well, I don't know her well and I didn't want to be told to go to the hospital; I thought I could handle it on my own).

Something has to change. It has to because I truly can't keep doing this. I'm tired. I'm not hopeful (why should I be? Nothing has worked so far).

I don't understand why I have to exist. Can't I just disappear until something manages my depression? Until I feel better? Why can't I do that?

SSDD

Same shit, different day.

My mood is still shit. I'm still depressed, still having suicidal ideation, and have been cutting. That is most certainly not a good combo. I have had 2 days in the last 3 weeks where going to the hospital might have been a good idea - except I don't think it would help much (I have been able to keep myself safe . . . well, except for the cutting).

I had a talk with hubby about everything a couple of nights ago to let him know what goes on in my fucked up brain. Maybe I scared him a little, I don't know. He thinks I need to add something else to my cocktail again. Maybe I do. But I don't know what. I don't have a good track record with antidepressants. He gave me homework though - to look back through my mood journal and see if there was something that I was on in the past that helped, even if I had to stop it for some reason.

Here's what I found:

I've always been on lithium and lamictal  - l&l - (both are mood stabilizers). For awhile I was on those with an antidepressant (most of the time, wellbutrin). This combo had me in a constant mixed state. I had mostly irritable hypomania mixed with depression, with a few short stints of euphoria. Reading through my journal, seeing how much irritability, distorted thinking, and depression was there makes it obvious that this is not a good combo.

I've also been on l&l with cymbalta. This combo lifted the depression a little but still kept me in a mixed state. L&l by itself renders me with deep depression.

I was on l&l with wellbutrin when I was hospitalized last November - wellbutrin was stopped while I was in the hospital and I was started on zyprexa. That knocked out the mania, but depression was still there and I was hospitalized in December after Latuda pushed me over the edge.

While on l&l and geodon, I had depression, sometimes a little more mild, often times more moderate and I lost my creativity. Mania/mixed symptoms are gone. Then, geodon was stopped and I started on seroquel. Still no mania/mixed symptoms. Well, irritability, but I'm not sure if that's mixed or more the depression. And I've been on wellbutrin and brintellix with these combos with no real benefit.

So, l&l with antidepressant alone = mixed episodes. L&l with antipsychotic = no mania/mixed, but depression. L&l with antipsychotic and antidepressant = no mania/mixed, but depression.

I'm not sure what to do. I'm sure my pdoc, whom I see next Wednesday, will suggest maybe upping the seroquel again. But I don't know what else would be helpful. I need something. Something has to change because I can't keep feeling like this.

And how, exactly, am I feeling?

Let's take a "good" day (good being a relative term). Today is a "good" day. I start the day not wanting to be awake because being awake is pointless and stupid. I spend the day going through the motions, feeling empty, and vacant, and detached. I don't really feel anything. I'm flat, apathetic. Why should I bother cleaning/drawing/etc when everything is so pointless and hopeless? It doesn't make sense. Sleeping to escape makes sense. Cutting makes sense. If I cut at least I can feel something physically - pain. That's almost like a feeling. My urge to cut is strong, sometimes overwhelming. I float along, feeling nothing, doing nothing. Well, that's not entirely true - I feel irritability. Easily. It's the only thing I do feel. I get snippy and bitchy. And in trying not to be snippy and bitchy, I tend to withdraw more.

Now, a bad day. Again, I awake not wanting to be awake because everything is pointless and stupid. Only now, I feel despair. Overwhelming despair and depression and darkness. Not only is being awake pointless, living is pointless. I want to die. I don't know how I can possibly make it through the day. The emotional pain is so great that all I want to do is curl in a ball. Curl in a ball and not exist anymore. Sometimes I do this - even at work - because I don't know what else to do. I get overwhelmed easily, I feel like giving up, and my irritability can get out of control. I tear up easily and often break down sobbing. I want to cut - this time not to feel physical pain, but rather to numb the emotional pain. I want to cut deep enough that I need stitches. My mind fixates on death - my death. Suicidal ideation. I hurt so bad that I don't know how I can go on living. I can't live like this - this is torture, not life. I know that if it does continue to go on like this, I'll kill myself. It's a certainty I'm terrified of.

I struggle whether it's a good day or a bad day, just in different ways. Neither of these days are really okay with me. I have to feel something other than this. I'm so fucking tired of dealing with this. No one should have to - especially for as long as I've had to. I'd really love to throw in the towel.

But I can't.

So there's where I am. Stuck between shit days and shit days. We'll see what my therapist says this week and what my pdoc says next week. What else can I do . . .

3 weeks later . . .

It's been around 3 weeks since my last post. Why so long? Because I don't want to post negative post after negative post. I've written some, I've just never published them.

I saw my pdoc, oh, I don't know, 2.5 - 3 weeks ago? Something like that. She said that we should be able to manage my depression better. So she upped my seroquel from 300mg to 400mg. She said that on doses up to 300mg seroquel works on mania and as a sleep aid. At doses over 300mg, it works on mania and as an antidepressant. She's confidant that this will work. I see her again on the 17th.

Long story short, it's not helping much. My depression is still bad. Most days I battle with suicidal ideation. This past Saturday was particularly bad as I was actively suicidal and wanted to slit my wrists. Luckily hubby was with me all day. I didn't quite let on how bad I was though (I don't want to go back to the hospital).

I want to spend all my time sleeping. That way I don't have to deal with how I'm feeling. I've been reading a lot to escape too. And art. I've been drawing.

I'm really getting tired of this. This stupid depression. I'm trying so hard to stay positive and yet it beats me down. I tell myself over and over that life is worth living, but the majority of the time I don't feel that way. I do have good moments, sometimes even a pretty good day, but they're few and far between. It's mostly me trudging through, faking it, forcing myself to talk and interact. I had started pulling away from hubby and son and I talked to him about it - I can't let myself pull away.

I still feel distant though. I feel like a lie.

I'm trying not to talk about this much, to anyone really, because 1. I don't want to be a burden, 2. I don't want to seem selfish and self absorbed, 3. I don't want people to think I've brought this on myself, and 4. I'm hoping minimizing/ignoring/denying how I feel will help (I'm aware that this is not the best tactic and usually doesn't work - and yet I try it anyway).

I'm done for now. Maybe I'll write more later, maybe not. I'm trying not to go to in depth as I don't want to break down right now.

Ugh.

Well fuck . . .

So here's the scoop. My depression is kicking my ass. For reals. This past weekend was particularly bad - lots of crying, wanting to die, suicidal ideation. It was not pretty. Yesterday I spent the whole day alternating between reading and sleeping. Two ways to escape how crappy I was feeling. Today has been better - thank God.

All this got me thinking. About a lot of things. Where to start . . .

I'm not taking my Brintellix anymore (antidepressant). I've been on it for like 14 weeks now? Something like that. And the past 5 weeks I've been in a depression. I've been depressed despite my fancy antidepressant. So I stopped it. Might as well save myself $60 a month if I'm going to be depressed on it. I stopped it cold turkey and have noticed no ill effects.

But I still have this damn lingering depression. I see my pdoc tomorrow and I'm faced with a decision: do I start a different antidepressant? Or not? It's this decision that's had me thinking.

The past 3 years have been a struggle for me. No one would argue that, and if you read this blog you know this. The past 3 years I have fought against my diagnosis, never really accepting it. I've tried many different medications trying to "control" this illness and my moods, certain that once I had the right combo I'd be happy and never have to face my violent mood swings anymore.

Well that's not how bipolar disorder works. That's not how the medications work.

The medications are designed to manage the major mood swings. True mania, and, to a lesser extent, major depression (medications sadly don't do that well with bipolar depression). My combo of lithium, Lamictal, and Seroquel are doing what they're supposed to be doing - managing the huge swings. My hypomania has been virtually nonexistent since my hospitalization for it last November. The bipolar expert agreed that this was an excellent combo.

But then depression rears its ugly head. And these meds let it happen. So I try Brintellix. It starts to work, amazingly, it starts to work. But it caused crippling anxiety and I had to stop it. After a time, the depression came back. I had since switched from geodon to Seroquel so we went ahead and tried the Brintellix again. Guess what? I didn't have the same results that I did the first time. I didn't really get the anxiety, but I also didn't really get any benefit.

And so I stopped it. Four days ago.

My depression persists. So, do I ask my pdoc tomorrow about trying a different antidepressant? Part of me says YES! Try something! Maybe this will be the med that gets rid of your depression!!

Or maybe, like every antidepressant I've tried (6 of them), it won't make any real difference. Maybe I'm still in denial of my illness and I'm still convinced that it's more meds I need (even when I state, often, how I don't want to be on more meds). Maybe I'm still holding out hope that I'll reach that place of always being happy and never having to worry about my illness if I just have the right meds . . .

Like I stated in my last post, this is not how bipolar disorder works. I can be on all the meds and still cycle. That is the nature of the beast. This recent depression while on Brintellix proves it.

Part of me doesn't want to accept this.

I want it to be easy. Change a med, you're all good.

That's not how this shit works. Accept that.

I have to learn to accept that some days I might wake up suicidal for no apparent reason. Or that I may wake up feeling okay and stable and even. Or that maybe the hypomania will decide to come back. And that even though my meds manage most of the big swings, they don't manage all of them.

This illness is managed, not controlled.

I've been trying to remind myself of this - often. I'm trying to be mindful and stay in the present - not worrying over yesterday or how I may feel tomorrow. I mean come on - Sunday I was suicidal, yesterday apathetic, and today I'm okay. If that doesn't show you how quickly my moods can cycle, while on meds . . . (fun fact: my moods can cycle that quickly in hours).

So then what have I decided about seeing my pdoc? I'm not going to go on another antidepressant. I'm going to try managing without one. I don't have a good track record with them anyway. I'm going to do what I can to manage my illness on a day to day basis. Doing everything I've learned in therapy, exercising, eating well, and taking my other meds as prescribed (even though now and then I want to stop them all).

Bottom line, I have to accept my illness and work with it to truly manage it and thrive. I can't keep doing what I've been doing and expect different outcomes. I need to keep my head out of my ass. Besides, how can I help others with mental illness if I can't help myself?

Spoiler alert: I'm planning on switching to psychiatric nursing and going back to school to get my NP in psychiatry. More on that later.

Still feeling depressed

Yep. I'm still having depressive feels. Last Sunday was particularly bad and I broke down sobbing uncontrollably.

I've had a few "good" days this week ("good" meaning that I wasn't "badly" depressed - maybe just meh, or down). I've been trying to keep everything in perspective and we reiterated that in therapy this week.

Frustrated though.

Every day, even my "good" days, I struggle against my thoughts. Every day I constantly feel like I don't want to exist. That I want to curl in a ball and not exist. Every day I have these feelings and every day I fight these feelings.

Even though I'm stable, I still struggle daily.

This is the part of bipolar most people don't know about. The majority of people think that it's all about full blown mania or full blown depression. It's not. The extremes are, of course, the most notable and obvious. But most people with bipolar disorder don't spend most of their time in the extremes. We spend our time in mild depression or hypomania or mixed. And even when we're stable our moods can change suddenly, for apparently no reason. We may struggle with suicidal ideation even when we aren't in an episode. We may become so used to our extremes that anything other than that feels like apathy, like we have no emotions.

I'm not really sure where this is going. I'm just frustrated I guess. Tired of my underlying feels.

Some Frustration

Well. It's been almost a full month since I posted anything. It's not that I haven't had anything to write about, it's just that I haven't published it.

I've been very frustrated lately. See, I'm in a low grade depression. Chock full of apathy, negative thoughts, exhaustion, and feeling like I want to die - or at least not exist - because everything seems pointless. I often don't want to be around people or interact with them. I kinda don't want to be touched at times. I often want to sleep so that I don't have to deal with how I'm feeling.

I hate this.

I was triggered 2 weeks ago by something I read in one of my Al-Anon daily readers. It was about forgiveness. And it made me realize that I haven't forgiven my mom for her drinking. And that I can't separate her from the disease of alcoholism. I can't see her for the person she is. Anytime I come close, my walls shoot up. And they're tall, thick, and covered in barbed wire.

This trigger happened on Friday the 17th. Saturday the 18th I talked about it in Al-Anon. The following Wednesday (last Wednesday) I talked about it in therapy and then with hubby that night. I started grieving the relationship that I will never have with my mom. This, I think, is the first step in forgiving her and forming some kind of relationship (I hadn't spoken to her in over 3 months).

I then called her last Saturday and we talked for 30 minutes. It went well - better than I thought - and I decided that we can talk, but only on my terms. I'll have to wait and see how this goes.

But what's frustrating is this damn depression. I'm stable for fuck's sake!!! I shouldn't have to deal with this!!

Except that this is part of having bipolar disorder.

I can be triggered and go into a mood episode. Since I'm stable, this depressive episode isn't as bad as it could be. Which I should be thankful for. And I am. But I'm still fighting against how I think I should feel being stable (which is no swings, happy all the time, cheerful, energetic, possibly slightly hypomanic - this is unrealistic, I know, but it's my ideal), and how I actually feel.

My "should" is very unrealistic. I was starting to accept that. Starting to accept that I'll have mini swings (that are more extreme than the "normal" range of emotions). Starting to accept that my mood can still change at the drop of a hat and that I will never truly know what my mood will be like at any given moment. I was starting to accept that.

But then this depression happened, and it has hung around for 2 weeks, and everything that I was starting to accept goes out the window.

So I'm frustrated. I'm reminding myself daily that this is part of bipolar disorder, that I'm still way better than I have been, and that eventually it will pass. I'm doing all of the correct, positive things that I should be doing and that I've learned how to do in therapy. I'm trying to dig myself out of this hole. And I will. I know I will. Or at least I keep telling myself that.

Ugh. Stupid depressive feels.

It's been a bit . . .

So it's been almost 2 weeks since my last post. I haven't much felt like writing.

But I do today.

I've been on the Brintellix for around 3 weeks now. My anxiety had started to get bad 2 weeks ago and I was worried that it would get as bad as it was the last time I was on it. I've noticed, however, that over the last week the anxiety has lessened. It's there every once in awhile, but it's manageable and not terribly bothersome.

And that's good news, right?

Sad thing? The Brintellix isn't really helping my mood. Not like it did the last time I was on it. I've had one good day (last Sunday) - a day where I felt "normal", happy, and content with life. I was at work, it was busy, and I had fun. But every other day? Just like before going back on Brintellix.

What do those days look like?

An overall feeling of being "down". I'm withdrawn. I don't want to participate in life. I'd rather nap the day away so I don't have to feel what I'm feeling. And what I'm feeling is all muted - except for my anger. I'm quick to anger. Everything seems to irritate or annoy me. I want to be by myself - I don't want to interact with anyone - family included.

I'm doing what I can to counter these feelings - don't think I'm giving up, or giving in. I'm not. I'm forcing myself to be more positive and upbeat (I don't know how well that's working - I should ask friends and family about that). I'm not doing the negative things I used to do (catastrophizing, all or nothing thinking, shit like that). I'm trying my best to be mindful - to stay in the moment. I'm forcing myself to interact.

Here's the thing - I'm stable. I'm the most stable I've been in 3 years. I'm not having big swings. I'm not hypomanic, I'm not horribly depressed. Nope. Stable. And that's good. The last thing I need is to have a major swing and be hospitalized again. But this low level depression? I think that's my baseline. I think that I'm stuck here and that's just how it's going to be. I'll have a good day here and there and all the others I'm going to have to fight for. I really don't want to accept this, but I don't think I have any other choice.

But wait - there's more!

I've been trying hard to be more "present" at home, around hubby and son. I had been getting bad about ignoring them, taking them for granted, lashing out at them. And I've been trying to be better about it. I don't know how well I'm doing in that regard. Sadly, I've felt myself starting to slip again. Feeling myself starting to withdraw more. Wanting to be alone and to be left alone. I'm trying to ignore/counter this as it's not good for anyone. I feel my anger sneaking back in. Ugh.

And also? Seroquel. FUCK Seroquel. I've had issues with drowsiness/grogginess/somnolence since I started it. I've had issues with my appetite since starting it (I've gained 17 pounds in around 13 weeks). And those two issues are getting progressively worse. It takes me around an hour to wake up in the morning and by midday I'm groggy and a little zombie like. The other thing, which has cropped up recently, is doing things in the middle of the night and not remembering them. The other night I kinda "woke up" standing in the closet with the light on - I have absolutely no recollection of getting up and walking into the closet. I don't remember waking up to go to the bathroom. If I tell hubby something after I've gone to sleep, I don't remember it. Now, maybe that part is only mildly annoying, but I would prefer for it not to get worse.

I see my psychiatrist in 2 weeks and I'm going to request that I go off of Seroquel. I'll start back up on the Geodon, whatever, I don't care. I didn't like the side effects of Geodon but they are preferable to the side effects of Seroquel. I have samples of 150mg Seroquel (I'm currently taking 300mg), so in a few days I'm going to drop my dose down - start to wean myself off. It's not like I felt a difference from when I was on 50mg vs 300mg.

So yeah. That's it. I'm frustrated. But what else is new, right?

Just a quick update . . .

This is just a real quick update and I'll write a real post soon. I'm back on the Brintellix (you may remember that I was on it before around 3 months ago - it worked, my mood was getting so much better, but it gave me crippling anxiety). Well, the seroquel isn't doing much for my depression which is starting to get bad again (not suicidal bad, but I-don't-want-to-participate-in-life bad). It's taking a toll on hubby and son and so the decision was made to try Brintellix again. My pdoc is hopeful that the seroquel will help control the anxiety better than the geodon did. We'll see. I'm anxious as I type this so . . .

Booooooooooo

I'm not sure if I've posted about this particular topic before. So I'm gonna give some background info first:

You all probably know that my mom is an alcoholic. Has been one for as long as I can remember. I have vivid, negative memories of my childhood, being the caretaker often for my brother and my mom. Lots of baggage with this. I'm ACOA (adult child of an alcoholic). This brings numerous characteristics of behavior and maladapted coping (which goes along awesomely with being bipolar . . . that was sarcasm by the way). (I should also point out that she is in complete denial about her drinking. She could be pouring vodka in a cup, drink from it, and tell you that she doesn't drink. I'm not exaggerating)

I've been diagnosed with chronic PTSD because of my upbringing. My mom is a huge trigger for me (my therapist and I have been working on this intensely for the last month and a half or so). For the longest time I refused to talk to her after about 6pm. Why? Because she would most likely be drunk and I can't handle that. Talking to my mom when she's been drinking - even if she's not drunk - has a decidedly negative effect on me. Anger, frustration, helplessness, fear, guilt, and shame all flood me. I overreact emotionally, which can send me into a bipolar mood swing. That's not good.

While trying to work through all this in therapy she's become even more of a trigger for me. So that even getting a text from her (no matter what time of day) gives me all of those negative emotions and fills me with anxiety. My therapist suggested I do something drastic - cut my mom out completely. No texts, no phone calls, no emails. If I don't have to constantly battle my negative feelings, perhaps I could work more on recovery. Makes sense.

And was very inviting.

So I sent my mom an email outlining the restrictions. No contact unless I initiate it. If she wanted to know how I was doing she could enquire through my hubby (which he had said he was okay with). I explained why. I let her know that this wasn't permanent, but that I didn't know how long it would last. She sent me an email back letting me know how much this hurt her (a guilt tactic, which she had used often growing up - I have no doubt that this decision hurt her but she lays it on thick). She said she would honor my wishes.

It was going well for a couple of weeks. I was a little more relaxed. I'm dealing with a lot of guilt over this as I'm her daughter - I should be talking to her and checking up on her and being what a daughter is supposed to be (which my therapist told me I need to get over - he pointed out that I felt this way partly because I always felt that way growing up - I had an obligation to her).

And then last night happened.

She texted my hubby and let him know that she had gone to the hospital as she thought she had a blood clot (she had surgery for a broken ankle 8? 10? 12?  weeks ago and was in a cast and then a walking boot). She told him that she was home and okay and it wasn't a clot (whatever was going on was caused because she wasn't following her physician's orders and hadn't been wearing the walking boot like she was supposed to). She stated in her text that all she needed was me and that I wasn't there for her and it was bullshit (I read the text). All those icky, negative feels? They came flooding back. My sense of guilt and shame overwhelmed me. I didn't know what to do. I mean, she's my mom and I love her and I want to know that she's alright. But at the same time the thought of talking to her filled me with dread.

After much trepidation I decided to text her. Asked her how she was doing as hubby had told me about the trip to the hospital. It was a very brief exchange of texts. I told her if something major like this happened that she could contact me - I'm not heartless, I'm just trying to care for me and heal.

The exchange of texts, the feelings that flooded me . . . it was overwhelming. The hour of deliberation and texts left me completely exhausted. Literally. It was only 8pm and I was ready for bed I was so exhausted. How fucking stupid is that? And equally disturbing is that no one can really understand that.

How having to wrestle with my feelings and my mom can take everything out of me and leave me empty.

It is so. Fucking. Stupid.

I didn't tell my hubby that last night. I don't think he'd understand (sorry). And the not understanding coupled with the guilt and shame I was feeling would have really put me over the top. I was already fragile enough last night.

I fucking hate this.

Today I'm conflicted. I feel so guilty that I think I should just reinstate contact with my mom. Not because I want to - but because I feel obligated to do so. My therapist would very strongly advise against this (as does my best friend). I need to get myself healthy. I shouldn't engage with my mom until she's not such a strong trigger. I'm siding with no contact. I need time.

I just hate how shitty I feel.

So I'm probably stable . . .

I truly do believe I'm stable. I've made it through the worst of the recent med changes, made it through the rebound depression, and I'm what you would call "stable". I'm not having any major mood swings. Rather than the swings hitting like a tsunami, they're 4-5 foot waves that lap more gently at the shore.

This should be good, right?

In a word: yes.

But also no.

Why? Because the moods I'm feeling now are very stunted. They're subdued. At times, they're almost not there. And this, for me, is bad. I'm used to feeling the extremes of moods. I'm used to the highs (though relatively rare), the hyper irritability, the deep sorrow and depression. I feel that. It's guttural. It's intense. But now my moods are meh. Blah. Whatever. Flat. Apathetic.

Or anger.

Here's my problem: I'm stable, but I'm not happy. I feel more like I'm on the outside of everything, viewing, but not taking part in life. I'm bobbing right along the surface, able to keep my head above water, but still drowning - albeit slowly.

I'm stable, but I feel no real joy in things. My job, that I love, is an annoyance. It's an inconvenience. Everything about it makes me irritable and resentful. Dealing with patients can make my blood boil. I don't enjoy it anymore.

My hubby and son . . . I try feeling joy, happiness, and love with them and I mostly come up short. I don't want to do anything with my son. I don't enjoy him. Him wanting to play a game with me irritates me and makes me snippy and angry and sad. I would prefer not to interact with him. With my hubby I do a little better. But I'm not really happy around him. I try. I try.

I'm stable, but I'm still depressed. Maybe I'm not at the sobbing-constantly-suicidal-depressed phase, but I'm depressed none the less. It's more mild. It's this black cloud that never fucking leaves. It's always there. Always hovering over me, always making everything more difficult. I'm more withdrawn. I avoid people and conversations. I'm almost constantly irritable. I'm down, melancholy. Whatever you want to call it.

I'm stable, but I'm not really alive. Does that make sense? I'm existing. I'm going through the routine of everyday life. I get up merely to make it to bedtime to escape again. During the day at home all I want to do is sleep to escape how I'm feeling - or, rather, what I'm not feeling.

I don't want to exist. I want to live. I felt how it feels to live while on the Brintellix - but I was taken off of that due to side effects. If I can't live, what's the purpose of being alive? Seriously. I want to wink out of existence.

That's not really an option though. So I'm trudging along, going through those motions, praying for a spark. Trying to keep hope alive while I'd truly like to throw in the towel.

Because this shit is hard. Pretending to be okay is fucking hard. Especially when there's no end in sight. Maybe this is as good as it will get for me. That's depressing in and of itself.

My pdoc is happy with my progress. She thinks the seroquel is working wonders. After all, I'm stable, right? That's the whole point. Stability. Who the fuck cares if I enjoy life . . . as long as I'm stable.

And before you go thinking I'm all doom and gloom and dwelling on everything bad - I'm actually not. I'm doing everything I can to stay in the moment. I'm picking out my errors of thinking and countering them. I'm taking it one day at a time. I'm trying to do things that I used to enjoy (though most of the time I have to force myself). I'm doing my best not to catastrophize. I'm eating healthier again, exercising regularly. Listening to good music, keeping busy, not allowing myself to nap too much.

And yet I mostly feel like crap. I'm still depressed. I'm still not happy. The unrelenting black cloud won't break up for anything. I'm stuck.

Cancer . . . ?

As I sit here writing this, I feel depressed, but I also almost feel nothing. I know I'm depressed - it's obvious. But I'm so emotionally drained that I truly don't feel anything. I'm flat. I'm going through the motions trying to feel, trying to relate, trying to pull myself up and participate in life . . . but I just can't. There's nothing there anymore.I have no joy what so ever in life. I only exist. I don't want to exist. I want to disappear. I want to stop feeling the way Im feeling. I'm so sick of it. I'm done with it.

I had a mammogram and ultrasound on Thursday for a lump I found in my left breast. Turns out the lump is a large cyst. I felt relieved. Until the radiologist came to talk to me. I have calcifications in the axillary lymph nodes on my right side.

The radiologist said I probably have cancer. Cancer. Like I need something else going wrong in my life.

The radiologist thinks it's most likely a sarcoma in the chest that has metastasized. He recommends a chest CT and possibly an MRI. I see an oncologist on the 25th.

I think I've been through enough in my life without adding cancer to the mix. I'm scared. I cried in my truck after he gave me the news, but I haven't cried since. I feel like I need to. Maybe I will in therapy on Thursday. This is making my depression worse. Again, as if that wasn't bad enough. I feel like giving up. I can barely manage myself right now. I already want to not exist because I hate how I feel. And now I'm facing chemo and radiation on top of it all. It seems pointless. Why bother fighting to live when the majority of me doesn't want to?

I hate the waiting. I just want to know. Tell me what it is and what the plan of action is. I just need to know.

The thing is . . .

. . . I really kinda feel like shit. Super irritable and depressed. There isn't a day again where I don't break down sobbing. I don't want to exist - if I could just sleep until I felt better. But the scary thing? I'm moving into the "I don't want to live stage". That's not  a good place to be. I'm so tired of feeling like crap. And thinking that this will go on for as long as I'm alive . . . well, that's daunting and depressing in and of itself.

I had therapy on Tuesday and M had me do an exercise where I pretended my mom was sitting across from me and I had to tell her what I was feeling. I kinda failed at it. I was so emotionally drained that I couldn't really do the exercise justice. I want a do over. He also gave me homework of sorts: to cut all communication with my mom. Now, she's a pretty big trigger for me and even getting a text with her fills me with anger and icky feels. M is worried about my current emotional/mental state and said that contact with her is probably too much right now.

I tend to agree. I've said for a long time it would be so much easier if she were dead. Which is a horrible thing to think - trust me, I know (though M said it's a very common thing for ACOA's to think of their alcoholic parent). So I decided that yes, cutting contact for now would be good for me.

Thinking about that conversation fills me with dread. Hubby suggested that I write her an email outlining everything and then have a very brief conversation with her. I convey everything more eloquently through the written word and I can avoid a confrontation that way. It'll still be hard because I know it will "break her heart" (those would be her words, not mine). And that will make me feel guilty (M says I need to get over my guilt). And my mom really isn't a bad person - she's not this abusive monster or anything. She's just an alcoholic ( a very functional one) who happens to be an extremely big trigger for me.

I really hope she doesn't take this too hard.

Increasing my Seroquel

I saw my pdoc yesterday and we're increasing my seroquel. I'll have 4 days at 150mg, 4 days at 200mg, and then be up to the target dose of 300mg (I've only been taking 50mg over the past 2 weeks). I'm hoping it works. We'll see.

When she first gave me the seroquel 2 weeks ago, she said there would be no difference in the level of sedation between 50mg and the higher doses. Yesterday she told me I might notice increased sedation. WTF? I've already noticed that I'm more sleepy throughout the day and have a harder time getting up in the morning and now you're telling me that this will get worse. Thanks. It's also increased my appetite 10 fold and I'm already gaining weight. If this doesn't slow down it'll be a deal breaker for me. (To counter this I'm getting my butt back to the gym and using Sensa - though it's hard to work out when you're sleepy and have no motivation thanks to worsening depression).

I had decided that I would give this med change 8 weeks to fully take effect. I think that's more than reasonable. Which means I still have 6 weeks to go. I'll be honest - I'm not optimistic. One might argue that I wasn't optimistic with the Brintellix and that worked. And that would be true. I'm hoping that seroquel will prove me wrong. I don't know if I'll wait the full 8 weeks. I might decide at 6 weeks whether or not it's working for me. If not, I want back on the Brintellix. If the anxiety comes back then we treat it. I'm tired of feeling like crap.

The last 2 weeks have been rough. I've cried almost every day and I'm back to not wanting to exist. I'm back to thinking that everything is hopeless and pointless and why should I bother trying. Sadly, what comes next is not wanting to live. And that quickly spirals into suicidal ideation. I don't want to go there. I don't want to be there. I want to feel good. I want to feel happy. I want to be stable. I'm tired of this fucking unrelenting depression.

It's frustrating to have felt so good and to now feel so bad. And no, it's not fair. It's like I'm not supposed to be happy. I'm not supposed to be well. And that's a bunch of bullshit.

Here we go again . . .

July 21st I posted something marvelous - how good I was feeling. I was feeling stable, happy, enjoying life.

You'll notice my use of the word was.

I'm no longer there. I'm no longer that girl. I should have known that it would be too good to be true.

Here's what happened: I had to stop the Brintellix. Why? Because my pdoc is refusing to prescribe it. Why? Because it was causing anxiety. Constant, unrelenting anxiety with panic attacks. That was getting worse. To the point of me not being able to sleep.

But even with the anxiety, my mood was good. Optimistic. Joyous at times. Everything I would want it to be.

But alas, no Brintellix for me.

My pdoc had another idea. Seroquel XR. There is a lot of strong research out there pointing to Seroquel as being the superior choice in treating bipolar depression. The research is compelling. My pdoc is confident it will work.

Seroquel is an antipsychotic, and I'm already on an antipsychotic (geodon). There is no real need to be on two. So we're phasing out the geodon. The Seroquel is supposed to replace both the geodon and the Brintellix. This is all well and good in theory, but not so much in practice.

See, I am no longer me. I am no longer this person who enjoys life and sees it worth living. The happiness and wholeness that I felt have been ripped away from me. I am a husk again. A paper doll. A two dimensional thing incapable of feeling the normalcy and stability I experienced just 2 weeks ago.

But it's worse this time. Because I was happy. Because I could feel. And just as I was getting used to it - used to feeling normal - it's gone. Slipped through my fingers as I desperately tried to hold on. It's nothing but dust now. And you can't pile dust together and make a stone as much as you can't have "real" feelings without proper brain chemistry.

I can't fake it. It's not there. It's just not. Fucking. There. I try and be happy. I try. I might catch myself in a moment of laughter and I push myself to feel. I mean, I was laughing - I should be feeling. It registers, but only for a moment. In seconds it's gone. Two weeks ago I would have felt it. I would have felt happiness, joy, humor, elation, togetherness, solidity . . . but that's just not there anymore. And, try as I might, I can't force it.

I'm trying to give the Seroquel the old "college try". I'm trying to give it a chance. But I don't want to settle for existing. Not after knowing what it feels like to feel good.

I don't want to be a husk. I don't want to be a paper doll.

I want to be me.

Some thoughts on stability . . .

It's awesome.

That's it.

Nothing more to see here.

Okay, there is.

If you've been following this blog at all, you know how much shit I've gone through. You know about my total of 4 hospitalizations. My self harm (my arm looks like shit, by the way). My very real brush with death. You know about how every single day of my life is a struggle against my brain. And there are some things that you don't know about - the things that I don't share here because they're too personal or awful or embarrassing.

Which is why this post is kinda special.

Because I finally feel stable. More than just stable - I feel good. I feel like me. I'm actually feeling happy and joyful and upbeat and positive. I'm enjoying life.

I'm enjoying life.

That's huge, y'all. I have hated life for the last 2.5 years. Hated it. I knew for certain that I would die by my own hand - it was just a matter of when (and that almost happened the end of May).

But now . . . Stability. Happiness. Hope.

I think there's a couple of reasons for this. First and foremost, Brintellix. A brand-spanking new antidepressant that I've been on for 2.5 weeks. The first week and a half sucked. Royally. Mood swings and uncontrolled rage. But then something magical happened: it worked. I started feeling better. The anger lessened. My mood improved. I started feeling like me. Me.

And second, trauma work. As much as trauma work sucks (and it does suck), it's helping. I'm identifying triggers, working past them, learning coping skills, and learning forgiveness.

These two things are feeding off each other and I'm continuing to improve. That's not to say I don't have my moments - I'm still bipolar after all and my mood can change in an instant - but I'm definitely coping with that more effectively to where it's not debilitating like it was before.

This all feels so very strange and wonderful. I honestly never thought I'd reach this point. I'm so glad I did.

Brintellix

I figure I might as well put this out there - I was started on a new medication. I know, I know, that's going against what the doc in Boston recommended, but the reasoning makes sense.

At my second appointment with my new pdoc, she recommended that I start Brintellix, a brand new antidepressant. Her reasoning is this: I've been on lithium and lamictal for 2.5 years. I've been on geodon for 7 months. These meds are working well for my hypo manic symptoms - I haven't had hypo mania since I was hospitalized in November. I'm as stable on these meds as I'm going to get. But they're obviously not doing much for my depression since I'm still struggling with it. We need to get something on board to work on that.

She gave me 4 weeks worth of samples and wanted to see me again in 2 weeks. I didn't want to take another med. I was scared of having a horrid reaction to it like I did with the Depakote. And it went against what Dr. Schulman said.

So I didn't take it.

And then my depression was pretty bad for 2 weeks. I was apathetic and anhedonic. I cut. A lot. When I saw my pdoc again last week, she again brought up the Brintellix, saying that I had to decide how depressed I was willing to be. She said it was ultimately my choice, but that she strongly recommended it. And we wouldn't know my reaction unless I tried it.

I was scared. The appointment put me in a foul mood. At home, I discussed everything with hubby who then pointed out how miserable I am and how much I hate life. How I don't find joy in anything.

The following day I started the Brintellix.

Today will be day 7 on it (I take it at night). And I have to say, I think it's working. The past 3 days I've felt better (Saturday, Sunday, Monday). More like myself. More happy. It's been refreshing. Yesterday I was actually a little hypo manic - which was great except for the racing thoughts and later in the evening when I turned into a raging bitch for no apparent reason (which poor hubby took the brunt of). I had energy, I got a lot of shit done, I laughed hysterically. It was mostly good.

Today I'm a bit apathetic, a little down, but every day can't be great.

I'm hoping the Brintellix works without putting me into a full blown hypo manic episode. I see my pdoc on the 27th and will be getting a script for it if it seems to be working. I also hope I can afford this medication - it's brand new and my insurance might not cover it. If that's the case, no Brintellix for me. We'll see.

A Strange Kind of Confusion

I'm trying to figure something out and the answer is eluding me. Which is frustrating cause I like figuring shit out.

And overthinking things.

Here's my conundrum:

I have this overwhelming sense of emptiness. This void of feeling. It's nothingness and it's often all-consuming. Along with it comes feelings that everything is pointless and hopeless and stupid and why should I even bother trying. I hate it.

And when I do feel, it's all icky feels. Pressing hopelessness and despair, feeling down - not completely depressed - but down. Hyper irritability, anger, and anxiety.

All of the above are symptoms of depression. Not suicidal depression, not anywhere close to where I was last month, but depression none the less.

But I've been thinking. What if what I'm feeling isn't the absence of feeling? What if what I'm feeling is kinda "normal"? Think about it - I've been in a heightened emotional state almost constantly for 2.5 years. I've been feeling extreme versions of emotions for so long that maybe, just maybe, not feeling extreme emotions feels like nothingness. That not feeling the extreme emotions leaves me confused and flat and empty feeling. Because I can feel some happiness from time to time. I am able to joke. It's just that it's very fleeting. It lasts mere minutes.

Because "normal" people, people without a mood disorder aren't happy all the time. Being happy doesn't equate to always being happy. There is a normal range of emotions throughout the day, right? And normal people feel blah and meh at times - that's not unique to me.

But I think about this - from talking to people about this, I've been told, time and time again, that what I'm experiencing is not what they experience. That most people, when alone by themselves, don't constantly think that life isn't worth living. That most people don't have this overwhelming sense of emptiness and that their life isn't, and never will be, complete. And therefor that they'd be better off "not around". This is what I've been told by many people (I've polled a lot).

These feelings, however, are common with people with a mood disorder. Which leads me again to thinking this is depression related.

Back and forth I go. I truly think it's a little bit of both. I think I'm still very much in a depression. The symptoms truly do point to that. But I also think that I'm confused and don't know what to do with the absence of extreme emotions. Me feeling normal, stable, is a scary proposition for me because I don't know how to act. I have to completely reinvent myself. Discover who I am all over again.

 And, honestly, being stable is boring. There. I said it. Feeling everything so deeply is a bit exhilarating - even when it severe depressive emotions. There's a saying for bipolar disorder: It is both a blessing and a curse to feel everything so deeply. Because feeling everything to the extreme is so much more invigorating. I don't even know how to describe it. Even the depression - the depth of emotion is staggering. I have 2 very good friends who are bipolar and they feel the same way. Many people on my bipolar support group feel the same way. It's a double edged sword - you crave the emotional extremes even though they are often terribly destructive.

I don't really want boring. I don't really want "normal".

But I don't want this feeling of nothingness, pointlessness, hopelessness, and emptiness that seems to go along with, well, me.

I don't even think this post makes much sense. It's rambling mostly. Me trying to sort through my thoughts.

Weird day so far . . .

I woke up this morning with the feeling that it was pointless to get out of bed. I was wide awake, which is unusual (the past few weeks I've been horrifically groggy in the mornings), but it just seemed stupid to get out of bed. I mean really, what was the point? My son is at his grandma's, I'm home alone, I have nothing to do until I see my pdoc at 5, so what's the point? Nothing really matters anyway.

But we have a guy coming to clean our ducts, furnace and air conditioner today so I needed to be up and showered. So I got up. And I showered. And I had breakfast and coffee. All I could think about was cutting or burning so I decided to make myself do something. I tidied up, folded laundry, dusted, and cleaned my office. I got my son's sheets in the wash and our comforter in the dryer.

It's 10:45 and I again have nothing to do. The duct guy is here. I can read, but I don't really feel like it (and I've got 6 hours to kill). I could try drawing but that just seems too daunting a task. Nothing I draw comes out right anyway and I get frustrated to the point of wanting to destroy something.

I want to get rid of stuff. Like, a lot of stuff. Trash it, give it away, sell it, whatever. Everything feels cluttered and we're going to need to downsize anyway.

I'm still apathetic but I'm restless. I didn't sleep well and I'm tired but I have this nervous energy. I hate it when I feel like this. Like life is meaningless and I'd be better off not participating in it. I'm not suicidal, I just want to disappear. Not exist for awhile. Obviously, I can't do that. So I'm just kinda stuck. Feeling like crap but not really feeling.

I hate not feeling. Well, the past few weeks I either have icky feels or no feels. Both are bad. I keep thinking that I'll even out, that Dr. Schulman will be right and I'll be okay and everything will even out. He said to give it at least 3-4 months. But then I think, feeling like this? For another 3-4 months? Can I get any fucking reprieve? Trauma work fills me with the icky feels. Triggers fill me with the icky feels. And when I'm not feeling icky I feel empty and dead inside. This is no way to be. And I keep thinking about how I get to deal with this for the rest of my life. Maybe my pdoc was right - maybe I do need to be on something for depression. The Brintellix like she recommended. But I'm scared to try something new - I have a bad track record with medications.

Oh well. What can I do? Keep plugging along and hope for the best I guess. Every day is a new day, and just because today is crappy it doesn't mean tomorrow will be crappy too.

I officially started trauma work

And it kinda sucks. And by "kinda sucks" I mean it's pretty awful and I'm not looking forward to this every week.

But it has to be done.

Today was my first full session of trauma work. It started with a brief recap of my past week and a half (which has been damn crappy with break downs, self harm, and tons of icky feels). Then M said, bluntly, "So let's talk about your childhood". I didn't know where to start. There's so much and it's overwhelming.

I started with my mom's fractured ankle. She fractured her ankle last Friday night falling down her stairs (I can only assume she had been drinking - she's done this before). I took her to the orthopedist yesterday and it turns out she needs surgery and can't drive for 6 weeks. Which means I'll be helping her around. Which means I have to have more interaction with her than I want to. Which raises my anxiety level and icky feels and makes me angry and uncomfortable.

I had a crap day yesterday. I only got one hour of sleep and I was in a foul mood. Then the above happened. I spent most of the afternoon crying uncontrollably. I wan't so badly to self harm. I had decided that anytime I feel like self harming I'd draw a butterfly on my arm instead. I ended up with 9 butterflies yesterday. I shredded 2 lawn chairs and threw them across the yard. I sat outside listening to music while it sprinkled on me (I was hoping for a downpour) trying to calm down, crying off and on.

And then something dawned on me. I started thinking that I was having a PTSD overreaction to something. Namely, having to help my mom out was putting me in the position of caretaker to her - the role I played growing up, taking care of her when she was drunk. Even though the situation for helping her out is different, emotionally I'm going back to when I was little. I'm dealing with childhood feels.

I told M this and he agreed that it was very probable that this is what was going on yesterday. It was a good segway into our discussion. Now, I'm not going to go into detail about what all was said. Not publicly. I'll probably write about it separately as I try to process everything.

One thing that did happen during therapy is that I emotionally shut down. I became guarded. I didn't want icky feels to flood me. This is something that I shouldn't do - I need to feel these things in order to process them, and I shut down. I'll be trying not to do that next week. I think I just had such a crappy week with feels and crying and such a horrible day yesterday with feels and crying that I couldn't take it today. So I shut down.

We spent our last 10-15 minutes talking about horses and horseback riding (I went riding last Saturday). It was a good way to decompress and try to release some of the icky feels.

This is hard, y'all. Trauma work sucks. I know it's necessary and that's fine - we'll muddle through as best we can. And hopefully I won't get thrown into a mood episode in the process.

Annoyances with Creativity

There's something that's been bothering me for a bit now and it's really getting on my nerves: my lack of creativity. It's gone. Just . . . gone.

Some of you reading this may not know that I'm an artist. I draw, paint, and sew. My artwork is a huge part of who I am and is something that brings me joy, helps me escape.

And now it's gone.

My creativity started to suffer shortly after I was started on Geodon. My inspiration started to slip, my muse dried up, and my desire all but left me. For a couple of months I forced myself to paint - Chinese brush style paintings like this one:

(That's my horse Chance, by the way, who we had to put down in December.)

But I couldn't do anything else. Nothing else would come out. 

I haven't painted or drawn anything for a month now. Not because I don't want to - I do - but it's like I can't. I want to be able to sit down and draw and paint and feel good about what I'm doing. But it's not there. I have no inspiration, no muse. I have no desire. I have no vision.

I decided that I would force myself to sketch a little every day - even if it was horrible or lame - I would sketch every day in hopes of getting my inspiration back. I'm struggling with this. I sit down to my sketch pad, pencil in hand, and stare at the blank page. Draw a dragon, I think. Pencil touches paper and nothing happens. Think. I try to flesh out basic shapes but I don't see what I'm trying to draw (in my mind's eye). How about a fox or a horse then. Again, pencil to paper and nothing flows. I try to think of a pose, I try to picture the anatomy, and I'm left with stiff, abstract shapes that suggest they might be something. 

As if this weren't bad enough, I have something else going on - apathy. I want to draw and paint so badly but at the same time I could care less. My desire is gone. Any joy I get out of creating is gone. There's no real motivation because I don't get anything out of it and I struggle with it anyway. 

And I fucking HATE this. You have no idea.

I think my problem is 2-fold. On the one hand we have Geodon, which took away my creativity and my libido (Geodon is an asshole). On the other we have my depression, which I think is very much alive and well in me. The depression brings with it the apathy and the lack of joy. 

No wonder I can't create art.

Not only can I not create art (which is the hugest blow to me), I also can't write. And I don't mean blogging - obviously I'm blogging. No, what I can't write is my book or poetry. I've been wanting to write poetry but nothing - and I mean nothing - comes out. I'll get 2-4 lines and I'm dried up. There's nothing more. I'll sit down to work on my book, fingers poised over the keys, and not one word comes out. I just stare at the screen, my mind alternately blank and racing and nothing gets written. 

This is all so very frustrating.

Tonight I'm going to try sketching looking at reference photos. Just animals. Maybe that will help. I won't have to think about poses. I'm going to keep trying to spit out lines of poetry - maybe something will flow eventually. I'll keep trying to work on my book - as daunting and futile that it seems. 

It's all I can do.

Apathy and Anhedonia are my Friends

And I hate these friends. I wish they would go the fuck away.

If you don't know what apathy or anhedonia is, google it.

The week after my hospitalization was filled with depression and despair. Then came Boston where I was warned that my moods might get a little screwy. And they did get screwy - I cycled through depression, irritability, giddiness and feeling okay several times a day. Fucking tiring.

But now . . . for the last week . . . I have been either irritable or nothing. I touched on it in my last post, my icky feels. I just can't shake this numb feeling. I've felt it since last Friday. Almost a full week now. I have the hyper irritability - I've got that emotion down pat - or I have this all encompassing nothingness. This lack of feeling. I try to feel. I force laughter, I force myself to be upbeat (which is all fake - I don't feel any of it). I force myself to talk, to not be as withdrawn as I feel.

And it's not really working. All I want to do is lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling. I want to not exist again.

Tuesday I had no choice but to do something, to interact - I was volunteering at the riding center all day. But I was a hollow husk. Yesterday I forced myself to do things. I had to take my son to therapy, I had acupuncture, I met a friend for pie and coffee. But other than that I just kind of floated around in a numb haze.

Today is looking to be, uh, not good. Today I have more feels and they're of the bad variety. They're of the depressed, self destructive variety. I've spend all morning on the verge of tears but I can't actually cry. Maybe it would help if I could. I want desperately to not exist. I feel like everything is pointless again. I'm always going to have these stupid fucking mood swings to deal with so what the fuck is the point of continuing on?

I want to self harm. I want to burn myself again. I have a string of 4 very noticeable burn marks from Monday on my left inner arm and I want to add to them. I want to feel the searing white flash of pain. I want the momentary adrenaline rush. More importantly, I want the outward expression of the pain I feel inside. I'm hoping my previous burn marks scar. I want the reminder.

It's taking every ounce of self control I have to not burn myself right now. I'm writing this hoping that it will help dissipate the urge. I may try going downstairs to box. I remind myself that self-harm serves no purpose and can even makes things worse. But I may end up burning myself, I don't know. I'm trying not to.

I feel like I don't know what to do with myself or my life. Right now, at this moment, everything seems so bleak. I'll be dealing with these swings my entire life - which is daunting and depressing. I have all this fucking trauma work to go through in therapy which is daunting and depressing. I have no desire/inspiration/get no joy out of my artwork anymore which is depressing. I'm getting no joy out of life right now which is depressing.

All of this is the apathy. All of this is the anhedonia. All of this is part of a possible major depressive episode. I'm hoping not. I'm hoping my brain is just in shut down mode from the whole depression/suicide/hospitalization thing and that soon it will kick into gear again. Who knows, maybe this is my new baseline. Whatever the fuck it is I want it to stop.

Also? All of these thoughts, these words I'm fleshing out here, represent several errors of thinking, or, cognitive distortions. Namely, catastrophizing, fortune telling, all or nothing thinking, overgeneralization, and disqualifying the positive. There are 10 "official" cognitive distortions and I'm practicing 5 of them right now. Intellectually, I know this. Intellectually, I try talking myself out of these, point out the flaws, counter them. But sadly, it's not helping. That's part of the problem with me - I know this shit. I recognize it and work against it. I try. But I still fall prey to it and it makes my mood cycles worse. I've been working on all of this so much in therapy over the past year and still it gets me.

I don't know what else to say. I hate being so negative but that's where I'm at right now. I'm trying not to ruminate, I'm trying to counter my distorted thinking, and I'm trying to not burn myself. I see my new pdoc at 3 today so maybe that will be helpful.

Ugh. I'm tired of having shitty feels or no feels. Fucking brain.

Having some icky feels

Yep. Icky feels. I fucking hate icky feels. There are several things going on, all of which are contributing to my current state of being.

First, the Denver Comic Con was this past weekend. Hubby and I dress up, we kinda go all out. And in Cons past I've enjoyed this and have had a good time. Not the case this weekend. I spent pretty much the entire time emotionally numb. Just . . . numb. I was just kinda there. I didn't feel anything. Except when I was hyper irritable. I did have that. How fun. I was worried I was going to have issues with anxiety, but, save for one panic attack, I was okay on that front. Little things I guess . . .

Second, I'm kind of a shitty wife. And by "kind of", I mean I've been a shitty wife. Why? Well, I have had lots of shit going on mentally/emotionally the past several months and I've let it overtake me. I've become a bit self-centered. I've been very difficult to be around. And to top things off, I forgot that yesterday was father's day. Which hurt my hubby. We typically don't do gifts, but I failed to even say Happy Father's Day until I heard something on the radio about it. Oops. I feel terrible about this. I was going to write something up last night that explained things, that let him know how much I appreciate him.

But nothing came out. Not because I couldn't think of things, but because I couldn't put it into words. I felt horrible. I hurt his feelings. After everything he does for me, I couldn't even make one small acknowledgement of how amazing he is. Which made me realize that I have, indeed, been self-centered and have put my family and everything else on the back burner. Which compounded my feeling horrible but also brought up anger. Anger at what I've been doing, and anger at hubby because he's making me aware of my shortcomings.

Now, don't get me wrong, none of that is his fault, but it's what I felt and was why I couldn't write anything. So instead, I tried in vain to verbalize my appreciation and apology, tearing up and trying desperately not to. (which, hubs, I love you more than anything and I still don't know how you put up with my crazy ass).

This whole situation led to something else - me trying not to catastrophize the situation. Something I'm an expert at and something that is exceedingly detrimental to my emotional well being. So I rationalized, told myself focusing on my shortcomings would do me no good and that I needed to focus on not doing this again. Crisis averted.

Or so I thought.

This morning my icky feels were worse and I felt very self destructive. So much so that I burnt myself with a lighter. Part in punishment, part out of anger/frustration/confusion/fear. I'm not entirely sure why I did it, just that I did it and it helped very briefly. I actually wanted to be more destructive, but I at least stopped myself from doing more.

Third, I had therapy this morning. M and I went over my report from Boston (it came in and Dr. Schulman change my diagnosis back to Bipolar 2 - make up your mind!). So we talked about that and discussed my weekend, lack of emotion, the hubby situation, and my burning myself (M said he'd smack me if I did it again - I wouldn't put it past him). It was all very tense for me and not the easiest to talk about.

And then . . . and then we spent the last 20 minutes or so discussing how we were going to go about all of the trauma work that needs to be done. This is very treacherous, complicated terrain, and we have to be very careful lest we send me into another major mood episode. We agreed that the most troublesome area is my ACOA/alcoholic upbringing/mommy issues - especially since my mom is alive and I have a very strained relationship with her (and she wants desperately to be a part of my life). He asked when I last spoke with her (which was last Tuesday, after Boston) and just talking about that phone call made me tense, apprehensive, and brought up lots of nasty feels. M actually specializes in trauma (works very closely with the military and local law enforcement here) and redirected and "reset" me before I left. It was very clever, actually.

I still have all these icky feels though. From everything mentioned above. I'm trying not to dwell, not catastrophize, not ruminate, not fortune tell - all of the things that I automatically do. Which is hard and puts a lot of strain on me. I'm trying to redirect myself like M did in therapy. I'm going to read today so that I can escape my own mind for a bit. I'm not allowed to do any ACOA/codependency related stuff on my own - only during actual therapy (M doesn't think I'll be able to handle it right now and I tend to agree with him). So reading. And probably sketching. I'm forcing myself to sketch every day in hopes that I'll get my muse/inspiration/creativity back (since the Geodon stole it away).

Stupid fucking icky feels.