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 I'm more withdrawn.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.