I'm having a hard time getting things down on paper. I want to write. I fucking yearn to write and every time I sit down to write, my brain becomes a jumbled mess. I know it's the ECT, which sucks.
Today is weird. Today has been kinda rough. Not bad, I guess, but just rough. It's Tuesday, and Tuesdays I'm at the riding center all day. In the morning, from 9-10:30, I do EFP with kids in a special school program. From 10:30-12:15 I clean up, play with my horse, Thor, and eat lunch. Then I have therapeutic riding with 2 kids from 12:15-1:45.
Well, this morning I was pretty much checked out during EFP. Then I go to get Thor to work with him and the whole time I feel like I'm on the verge of losing it. But the weird thing is that the emotions aren't there. Like, it feels like they're going to be, and then they're not. But I still feel like I'm going to lose it.
As it was getting closer to afternoon class time I was feeling more and more like I couldn't cope. Like I couldn't handle being in class. And during my first class with Gabe, that feeling intensified. So much so that I had to leave before my second class - I couldn't stay, I couldn't handle it. Couldn't handle the interaction, faking it, I just couldn't. The whole way home I felt empty and hollow and on the verge of breaking down - but with no real emotion behind it.
And I wanted to cut.
It was my plan to pick up A from school and come home and work out. I have not worked out. I'm not going to either. I don't care. I don't care at all. Fuck it. I don't know what to do with myself.
I'm apathetic. I just want to go to sleep. Go to sleep and not wake up until I feel better. But I don't have that luxury. No. I have to battle my stupid fucking brain every day. Fuck it.
Showing posts with label apathetic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label apathetic. Show all posts
Tuesday, September 15, 2015
Tuesday, December 9, 2014
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 . . .
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 . . .
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, November 7, 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, August 28, 2014
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 19, 2014
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 2, 2014
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.
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.
Saturday, June 21, 2014
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:
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.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Some Thoughts on Suicide
Suicide is a touchy subject. It is, isn't it? The proverbial elephant in the room. Mental illness is bad enough, but bring suicide into the mix . . .
There are two things that that really get my goat about talking about suicide. Two stereotypes that people seem to hold onto.
1. People who talk about suicide are looking for attention
2. Suicide is selfish
Going into a talk about suicide with this mindset is a recipe for disaster.
Let me start by saying this: unless you've been at the point where suicide seems like the only answer, you don't get to tell me how I feel. You don't get to tell me to "buck up and look at the bright side."
There are a few things I want to address and I don't think I will do this as eloquently or as straight forward as I would like. My brain is scattered right now.
We all know what suicide is - taking one's life. We all know there is attempted suicide, completed suicide, and suicidal ideation (thinking about suicide). And there are warning signs, which often go unnoticed. I will be addressing the warning signs, don't worry.
Here's a point I want to drive home to y'all: most people who contemplate suicide truly don't want to die. They simply want the pain to stop and they see ending their life as the only way to accomplish this. Let me sat this again: WE DON'T WANT TO DIE.
Have you ever been in that much pain? That much emotional pain that you want to die? I have. Several times. Sobbing, rocking myself, knowing that things can't possibly better, that I'm a burden on my family and friends because of my constant mood swings and neediness. Knowing that my illness, bipolar disorder, will be with me my entire life and that I'll face more episodes like this, worsening depression, mania, and shorter periods of remission. I can't face the truth that I don't feel - that I often don't feel love for my husband or son - I can only fake it. That I don't feel joy or happiness and everything that once has meaning is now dead to me. That sometimes I'm so apathetic I can't even move. It's a physical pain too - exhaustion beyond belief, headaches, nausea. I'd give anything to make it stop. I'd do any thing to make it stop. And in those moments, in those moments of weakness . . . suicide seems plausible. Suicide seems like the only answer.
But I'm lucky. I'm still able to rationalize things. I think of my son and husband and I don't want to hurt them. I mainly don't want to scar my son with losing his mother. He's the reason I haven't taken pills. He's the reason I've had my husband lock up all of my pills in our safe, to which I don't know the combination.
Why am I telling you this? Why am I getting so personal with this? Because it's real. Because it happens. Because an educated, rational, once happy person has recently considered taking a whole bottle of propanolol to end her life - even though she has a wonderful family and group of friends and support system.
I've been talking about suicide lately, about not wanting to exist. I always say that I don't want to die, but that I don't want to exist. If I could just not exist until I felt better. Or that I want to sleep and just not wake up . . . those are words to pay attention to. Those are words of someone looking for help - not someone looking for attention. Do I get attention from saying things like that? You bet your sweet ass I do. I get attention from my hubby and my therapist mainly. My manager. But I need that attention. I need for someone to say, "you matter. You're important. I'm here for you." And that's all. I need to hear that. I have all the reasons I need to kill myself - give me a reason not to. And not by chastising me and telling me that I'll be hurting my family - do you think I don't know that? Trust me - I know that. But part of me thinks they'd be better off without me. Gently remind me that you'd rather have me around, even if I'm depressed and moody and sullen. That you love me no matter what. Don't make it about you. Don't tell me how it would affect you.
So is suicide selfish? In a way, yes. But when you're in that frame of mind, when you see it as your only out, it doesn't seem selfish. It seems like your only saving grace. It seems like you're doing everyone else a favor. When you go on about how my suicide will affect you, about how it will affect your family, my family, my friends, this person and that person, you diminish my feelings. You're telling me that everyone matters more than me and what I'm feeling and what I'm going through. What I'm feeling is real. Even though it may be twisted, illogical thinking, it's real. And to stomp on that, well, it does more harm than good. Acknowledge my feelings, try to understand them - even you you may not. Tell me you care and you want to help. Validate me. Hear me. Let me vent. Don't make my feelings about you.
Let's look at some warning signs for suicide:
1. Talking about suicide
2. Preoccupation with death
3. Feelings of hopelessness/despair
4. No hope for future
5. Self loathing
6. Withdrawing from others
7. "Getting affairs in order"
8. Self destructive behavior
9. Sleep problems
10. Sudden changes in mood or appearance
11. Sudden calmness
If you notice these signs in someone, talk to them. Let them know you care. Ask them about suicide - asking them isn't suddenly going to make them suicidal if they weren't before. On the contrary - it lets them know that you're open to talking to them about it and helping.
I have many things on this list tucked under my belt right now, which is why I'm worrisome to my hubby, therapist and psychiatrist. But we've taken precautions. We've talked openly about it. And I feel safe. Help someone else feel safe. Please.
If you're feeling suicidal, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at: 1-800-273-8255
Want to more things NOT to say to someone who is suicidal? Read this blog post.
There are two things that that really get my goat about talking about suicide. Two stereotypes that people seem to hold onto.
1. People who talk about suicide are looking for attention
2. Suicide is selfish
Going into a talk about suicide with this mindset is a recipe for disaster.
Let me start by saying this: unless you've been at the point where suicide seems like the only answer, you don't get to tell me how I feel. You don't get to tell me to "buck up and look at the bright side."
There are a few things I want to address and I don't think I will do this as eloquently or as straight forward as I would like. My brain is scattered right now.
We all know what suicide is - taking one's life. We all know there is attempted suicide, completed suicide, and suicidal ideation (thinking about suicide). And there are warning signs, which often go unnoticed. I will be addressing the warning signs, don't worry.
Here's a point I want to drive home to y'all: most people who contemplate suicide truly don't want to die. They simply want the pain to stop and they see ending their life as the only way to accomplish this. Let me sat this again: WE DON'T WANT TO DIE.
Have you ever been in that much pain? That much emotional pain that you want to die? I have. Several times. Sobbing, rocking myself, knowing that things can't possibly better, that I'm a burden on my family and friends because of my constant mood swings and neediness. Knowing that my illness, bipolar disorder, will be with me my entire life and that I'll face more episodes like this, worsening depression, mania, and shorter periods of remission. I can't face the truth that I don't feel - that I often don't feel love for my husband or son - I can only fake it. That I don't feel joy or happiness and everything that once has meaning is now dead to me. That sometimes I'm so apathetic I can't even move. It's a physical pain too - exhaustion beyond belief, headaches, nausea. I'd give anything to make it stop. I'd do any thing to make it stop. And in those moments, in those moments of weakness . . . suicide seems plausible. Suicide seems like the only answer.
But I'm lucky. I'm still able to rationalize things. I think of my son and husband and I don't want to hurt them. I mainly don't want to scar my son with losing his mother. He's the reason I haven't taken pills. He's the reason I've had my husband lock up all of my pills in our safe, to which I don't know the combination.
Why am I telling you this? Why am I getting so personal with this? Because it's real. Because it happens. Because an educated, rational, once happy person has recently considered taking a whole bottle of propanolol to end her life - even though she has a wonderful family and group of friends and support system.
I've been talking about suicide lately, about not wanting to exist. I always say that I don't want to die, but that I don't want to exist. If I could just not exist until I felt better. Or that I want to sleep and just not wake up . . . those are words to pay attention to. Those are words of someone looking for help - not someone looking for attention. Do I get attention from saying things like that? You bet your sweet ass I do. I get attention from my hubby and my therapist mainly. My manager. But I need that attention. I need for someone to say, "you matter. You're important. I'm here for you." And that's all. I need to hear that. I have all the reasons I need to kill myself - give me a reason not to. And not by chastising me and telling me that I'll be hurting my family - do you think I don't know that? Trust me - I know that. But part of me thinks they'd be better off without me. Gently remind me that you'd rather have me around, even if I'm depressed and moody and sullen. That you love me no matter what. Don't make it about you. Don't tell me how it would affect you.
So is suicide selfish? In a way, yes. But when you're in that frame of mind, when you see it as your only out, it doesn't seem selfish. It seems like your only saving grace. It seems like you're doing everyone else a favor. When you go on about how my suicide will affect you, about how it will affect your family, my family, my friends, this person and that person, you diminish my feelings. You're telling me that everyone matters more than me and what I'm feeling and what I'm going through. What I'm feeling is real. Even though it may be twisted, illogical thinking, it's real. And to stomp on that, well, it does more harm than good. Acknowledge my feelings, try to understand them - even you you may not. Tell me you care and you want to help. Validate me. Hear me. Let me vent. Don't make my feelings about you.
Let's look at some warning signs for suicide:
1. Talking about suicide
2. Preoccupation with death
3. Feelings of hopelessness/despair
4. No hope for future
5. Self loathing
6. Withdrawing from others
7. "Getting affairs in order"
8. Self destructive behavior
9. Sleep problems
10. Sudden changes in mood or appearance
11. Sudden calmness
If you notice these signs in someone, talk to them. Let them know you care. Ask them about suicide - asking them isn't suddenly going to make them suicidal if they weren't before. On the contrary - it lets them know that you're open to talking to them about it and helping.
I have many things on this list tucked under my belt right now, which is why I'm worrisome to my hubby, therapist and psychiatrist. But we've taken precautions. We've talked openly about it. And I feel safe. Help someone else feel safe. Please.
If you're feeling suicidal, call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at: 1-800-273-8255
Want to more things NOT to say to someone who is suicidal? Read this blog post.
Friday, May 16, 2014
Oy vey
So here's some fun stuff. On Wednesday I had therapy. My therapy sessions are an hour long. Except for Wednesday. On Wednesday my therapy session was an hour and a half. With the last 20 minutes involving my psychiatrist.
Why?
So I wouldn't be hospitalized. I really didn't want to be hospitalized. I begged, through tears, to my therapist not to send me. That I could keep myself safe, that my hubby would keep me safe and that I couldn't hurt myself because it would only hurt my hubby and son as well.
I was having pretty strong suicidal ideation. To the point where, if I didn't have my hubby and son, I would have killed myself. There was no doubt in my mind. And my therapist knew this. But we put a safety plan in place and it was understood that if I started feeling worse I would admit myself.
My psychiatrist wants me to up my dose of Depakote from 1000mg to 2000mg - he doesn't think it's the cause of my suicidal ideation. Last night I went to 1500mg and this morning I paid for it with unrelenting grogginess. After 2 more nights I'll increase to 2000mg.
My moods have been . . . not good. Yesterday I had a panic attack during our charge nurse meeting. As in tapping feet/shaking/rocking panic attack. I did my best to stay unnoticed. That didn't happen. After the meeting one of the nurses approached my manager and pointed it out to her. I had to take a Xanax (well, 0.25mg, a quarter of a Xanax) to calm down and then give my manager an update on my mental status and explain what happened. Not a good way to start the day. And my day ended with a crash c-section that resulted in a bad outcome. Only 2 months since my last bad outcome.
I did, however, get some good news today. I have an appointment at Mass General on Monday, June 9th. My psychiatrist has been wanting to send me there for a year and a half and now I actually have an appointment - and I won't even have to miss any work. Fancy that!
I had gotten a second opinion from a med specialist 2 weeks ago, but Dr. C still wants me to go - always a good idea to have a backup plan in place (plus, I'm seeing the bipolar specialists in the mood clinic there).
Good things and bad things. Hopefully now there will start to be more good things. I like good things.
Why?
So I wouldn't be hospitalized. I really didn't want to be hospitalized. I begged, through tears, to my therapist not to send me. That I could keep myself safe, that my hubby would keep me safe and that I couldn't hurt myself because it would only hurt my hubby and son as well.
I was having pretty strong suicidal ideation. To the point where, if I didn't have my hubby and son, I would have killed myself. There was no doubt in my mind. And my therapist knew this. But we put a safety plan in place and it was understood that if I started feeling worse I would admit myself.
My psychiatrist wants me to up my dose of Depakote from 1000mg to 2000mg - he doesn't think it's the cause of my suicidal ideation. Last night I went to 1500mg and this morning I paid for it with unrelenting grogginess. After 2 more nights I'll increase to 2000mg.
My moods have been . . . not good. Yesterday I had a panic attack during our charge nurse meeting. As in tapping feet/shaking/rocking panic attack. I did my best to stay unnoticed. That didn't happen. After the meeting one of the nurses approached my manager and pointed it out to her. I had to take a Xanax (well, 0.25mg, a quarter of a Xanax) to calm down and then give my manager an update on my mental status and explain what happened. Not a good way to start the day. And my day ended with a crash c-section that resulted in a bad outcome. Only 2 months since my last bad outcome.
I did, however, get some good news today. I have an appointment at Mass General on Monday, June 9th. My psychiatrist has been wanting to send me there for a year and a half and now I actually have an appointment - and I won't even have to miss any work. Fancy that!
I had gotten a second opinion from a med specialist 2 weeks ago, but Dr. C still wants me to go - always a good idea to have a backup plan in place (plus, I'm seeing the bipolar specialists in the mood clinic there).
Good things and bad things. Hopefully now there will start to be more good things. I like good things.
Wednesday, May 7, 2014
Changes
Because we need to shake shit up.
My changes are coming in the form of medication changes. Major ones. Namely, stopping lithium, stopping Wellbutrin, decreasing Lamictal by half, and adding Depakote. All pretty much at the same time. It's a possible recipe for disaster.
Why the changes?
Because I'm treatment resistant. Because my previous combo wasn't working. And because my psychiatrist sent me to a medication specialist because he no longer knows what to do with me. Said specialist thinks that I'm toxic on my lithium and made all of the above recommendations. So we'll try it out and see what happens. I'm nervous as my body doesn't seem to handle med changes very well. And all these changes at once . . . scares me.
The night before last, my first night taking Depakote, I didn't sleep. Well, maybe I got 1-2 hours. Yesterday I was irritable, angry, and depressed. I cried more times than I care to admit. Today I'm depressed yet apathetic. I can't focus. I don't care if I do anything or not. All I'd really like to do, honestly, is not exist. I don't want to die, really, just not exist.
Makes no sense, I know.
It's just that everything that used to give me pleasure doesn't anymore. My creative side - which has always been hugely important - is gone. Completely gone. Playing with my son is a chore - one I would rather avoid. And sex? Seems we're back to the no desire, no arousal, no orgasm phase. At work, at my job that I love, I find myself annoyed and irritable. I find it difficult to relate to or bond with my patients. I don't want to go out with friends.
I want to not exist.
Aside from being depressed, I'm unhappy. I want to be hypomanic. If I could just be hypomanic - controlled hypomanic - well, I don't even know. I'd want to be that way all the time. But that's not feasible or safe.
I need a reprieve from how I've been feeling for the last 2.5 years (and most notably since November). Hopefully this med change will be what I need. Hopefully it will stabilize me. Hopefully it won't make things worse. Time will tell.
My changes are coming in the form of medication changes. Major ones. Namely, stopping lithium, stopping Wellbutrin, decreasing Lamictal by half, and adding Depakote. All pretty much at the same time. It's a possible recipe for disaster.
Why the changes?
Because I'm treatment resistant. Because my previous combo wasn't working. And because my psychiatrist sent me to a medication specialist because he no longer knows what to do with me. Said specialist thinks that I'm toxic on my lithium and made all of the above recommendations. So we'll try it out and see what happens. I'm nervous as my body doesn't seem to handle med changes very well. And all these changes at once . . . scares me.
The night before last, my first night taking Depakote, I didn't sleep. Well, maybe I got 1-2 hours. Yesterday I was irritable, angry, and depressed. I cried more times than I care to admit. Today I'm depressed yet apathetic. I can't focus. I don't care if I do anything or not. All I'd really like to do, honestly, is not exist. I don't want to die, really, just not exist.
Makes no sense, I know.
It's just that everything that used to give me pleasure doesn't anymore. My creative side - which has always been hugely important - is gone. Completely gone. Playing with my son is a chore - one I would rather avoid. And sex? Seems we're back to the no desire, no arousal, no orgasm phase. At work, at my job that I love, I find myself annoyed and irritable. I find it difficult to relate to or bond with my patients. I don't want to go out with friends.
I want to not exist.
Aside from being depressed, I'm unhappy. I want to be hypomanic. If I could just be hypomanic - controlled hypomanic - well, I don't even know. I'd want to be that way all the time. But that's not feasible or safe.
I need a reprieve from how I've been feeling for the last 2.5 years (and most notably since November). Hopefully this med change will be what I need. Hopefully it will stabilize me. Hopefully it won't make things worse. Time will tell.
Tuesday, April 8, 2014
This is an update
Well, sort of.
I've had a rough go of it lately - namely the last 3 days. The last 3 days have been filled with lots of crying and generally hating myself and life. Not that I'm trying to hate myself and life, that's just kinda what happens.
My depression seems to have returned and it's being a bitch. Most of the time I feel withdrawn, empty, hopeless and like everything is pointless. When I don't feel like that I'm either irritable (like a motherfucker) or crying and feeling even worse.
So it's pretty awesome.
I'm guessing that I'm going to have to increase my Geodon back up to 80mg (I'm currently on 40mg - I was hoping to be stable at this dose and still enjoy a sex life - alas, that doesn't seem like it will be happening). But it is what it is I guess.
I'm drained and tired and tired of dealing with this. I just want Ted to go away. Maybe Juanita (my mania) could pay me a visit. A manageable visit. I wanna be happy and have energy.
I've had a rough go of it lately - namely the last 3 days. The last 3 days have been filled with lots of crying and generally hating myself and life. Not that I'm trying to hate myself and life, that's just kinda what happens.
My depression seems to have returned and it's being a bitch. Most of the time I feel withdrawn, empty, hopeless and like everything is pointless. When I don't feel like that I'm either irritable (like a motherfucker) or crying and feeling even worse.
So it's pretty awesome.
I'm guessing that I'm going to have to increase my Geodon back up to 80mg (I'm currently on 40mg - I was hoping to be stable at this dose and still enjoy a sex life - alas, that doesn't seem like it will be happening). But it is what it is I guess.
I'm drained and tired and tired of dealing with this. I just want Ted to go away. Maybe Juanita (my mania) could pay me a visit. A manageable visit. I wanna be happy and have energy.
Friday, March 28, 2014
OMG WTF and THANK YOU
This is a two part post because I feel like doing that. Deal with it.
Let me start by saying this: this past week (since last Friday) has been HELL. It has been complete and total emotional CHAOS. You may remember that I went of my Geodon last Thursday and that Friday started my living nightmare.
I worked last Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I spent most of my shift in our report room, in the corner, curled in a ball. Pretty great, yeah? I worked Sunday as well. And Sunday I was sent home early because I couldn't stop crying and was having suicidal ideation. Awesome, right? Monday and Tuesday were spent sobbing uncontrollably, wishing I would die or at least not exist anymore. And Wednesday . . . Wednesday was complete apathy. It was a chore to go to the bathroom. I spent most of the day laying on the couch staring at the ceiling. I felt nothing. I cared about nothing. Until that night when, again, I couldn't stop crying.
My mother-in-law watched my son Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday because I was such a mess. I couldn't cope taking care of myself, let alone taking care of my son.
And yesterday, Thursday, was a real shit show too. I worked and people could tell something was wrong. I was either given a wide berth or was asked repeatedly if I was okay. I broke down crying in the PACU talking to my friend and coworker. I had emailed my therapist the night before, telling him what was going on and he had emailed me back saying that he needed to see me, ASAP. He wanted me to come in at three. So I had to leave work. Which I felt absolutely horrible about. I mean, I had to leave on Sunday and now today too?? But I left, fully intending to come back after my session.
So I went to therapy, flat and withdrawn and miserable. M had me tell him about my week. He helped me vent. He had to help me because I was so depressed I was hardly saying anything. I got angry. I teared up but didn't cry (I wouldn't let myself). And then M sat on the floor and asked me what the fuck I was going to do. That's seriously what he said. I couldn't help but laugh. With that, he broke through. He told a corny joke. I told a better one. I made fun of how I'm living day by day and how every day I'm like "well today was horrible, maybe tomorrow will be better. Oh FUCK! Today is fucking horrible too!" But I was laughing as I was saying it. We talked about our dogs and I told him about how I talk for my dog and that she cusses a lot. I gave examples. He was laughing, I was laughing. It was exactly what I needed. He also told me I was not allowed to go back to work, but that I had to go home and relax.
And that's what I did. My hubby was at his mom's house having dinner (I got home at 1630) so I went to McDonald's and got cheeseburgers and ate them watching Ghost Hunters. My mood had gone from a 1-2 to a solid 3.5.
I missed 3 doses of Geodon and my life fell apart. Needless to say, I'm back on the Geodon but it's taking awhile for it to kick in. I've never done well with med changes and this was one of the worst (only the Latuda beat it - which sent me to the hospital in December). Slowly though, I'll get better.
And now, the thank you's.
First, my hubby. He's always there for me, encouraging me, trying to make me smile and laugh, comforting me, listening to me and even yelling at me when I need it. He's a trooper and I don't know how the hell he handles being with me. I wouldn't be here if not for him and my son. I love you more than you know. Thank you.
My friends, especially L. My true friends have helped me so much. Again, especially L who keeps my ass in line and is never afraid to speak her mind and put me in my place (which I totally need). They listen to me and support me. Thank you.
My coworkers, especially over the last week. I have been a handful. I have been a mess. I have been needy and had to go home early 2 days - 2 days that were terribly busy. But they covered for me. My NICU manager who set me straight and sent me home on Sunday. My assistant manager who let me leave yesterday and made me feel a little bit better for having to leave. To my friend B who was charge both those days and had to pick up my slack. And for everyone else for being understanding. Thank you.
My therapist. Therapy is always beneficial, but yesterday it was especially so. Thank you.
I also need to say thank you to my mother-in-law for keeping my son and giving me a reprieve. Thank you.
That's it. That's all I got right now. Boom.
Let me start by saying this: this past week (since last Friday) has been HELL. It has been complete and total emotional CHAOS. You may remember that I went of my Geodon last Thursday and that Friday started my living nightmare.
I worked last Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I spent most of my shift in our report room, in the corner, curled in a ball. Pretty great, yeah? I worked Sunday as well. And Sunday I was sent home early because I couldn't stop crying and was having suicidal ideation. Awesome, right? Monday and Tuesday were spent sobbing uncontrollably, wishing I would die or at least not exist anymore. And Wednesday . . . Wednesday was complete apathy. It was a chore to go to the bathroom. I spent most of the day laying on the couch staring at the ceiling. I felt nothing. I cared about nothing. Until that night when, again, I couldn't stop crying.
My mother-in-law watched my son Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday because I was such a mess. I couldn't cope taking care of myself, let alone taking care of my son.
And yesterday, Thursday, was a real shit show too. I worked and people could tell something was wrong. I was either given a wide berth or was asked repeatedly if I was okay. I broke down crying in the PACU talking to my friend and coworker. I had emailed my therapist the night before, telling him what was going on and he had emailed me back saying that he needed to see me, ASAP. He wanted me to come in at three. So I had to leave work. Which I felt absolutely horrible about. I mean, I had to leave on Sunday and now today too?? But I left, fully intending to come back after my session.
So I went to therapy, flat and withdrawn and miserable. M had me tell him about my week. He helped me vent. He had to help me because I was so depressed I was hardly saying anything. I got angry. I teared up but didn't cry (I wouldn't let myself). And then M sat on the floor and asked me what the fuck I was going to do. That's seriously what he said. I couldn't help but laugh. With that, he broke through. He told a corny joke. I told a better one. I made fun of how I'm living day by day and how every day I'm like "well today was horrible, maybe tomorrow will be better. Oh FUCK! Today is fucking horrible too!" But I was laughing as I was saying it. We talked about our dogs and I told him about how I talk for my dog and that she cusses a lot. I gave examples. He was laughing, I was laughing. It was exactly what I needed. He also told me I was not allowed to go back to work, but that I had to go home and relax.
And that's what I did. My hubby was at his mom's house having dinner (I got home at 1630) so I went to McDonald's and got cheeseburgers and ate them watching Ghost Hunters. My mood had gone from a 1-2 to a solid 3.5.
I missed 3 doses of Geodon and my life fell apart. Needless to say, I'm back on the Geodon but it's taking awhile for it to kick in. I've never done well with med changes and this was one of the worst (only the Latuda beat it - which sent me to the hospital in December). Slowly though, I'll get better.
And now, the thank you's.
First, my hubby. He's always there for me, encouraging me, trying to make me smile and laugh, comforting me, listening to me and even yelling at me when I need it. He's a trooper and I don't know how the hell he handles being with me. I wouldn't be here if not for him and my son. I love you more than you know. Thank you.
My friends, especially L. My true friends have helped me so much. Again, especially L who keeps my ass in line and is never afraid to speak her mind and put me in my place (which I totally need). They listen to me and support me. Thank you.
My coworkers, especially over the last week. I have been a handful. I have been a mess. I have been needy and had to go home early 2 days - 2 days that were terribly busy. But they covered for me. My NICU manager who set me straight and sent me home on Sunday. My assistant manager who let me leave yesterday and made me feel a little bit better for having to leave. To my friend B who was charge both those days and had to pick up my slack. And for everyone else for being understanding. Thank you.
My therapist. Therapy is always beneficial, but yesterday it was especially so. Thank you.
I also need to say thank you to my mother-in-law for keeping my son and giving me a reprieve. Thank you.
That's it. That's all I got right now. Boom.
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Stuck
You see that cow? That cow is me. Although, if I was going to be a cow I'd be one of the black and white dairy cows because I find them way cuter. Anyway, that cow is me. Stuck.
I'm in full blown depression again thanks to med tweaking. The last 3 days have been a complete hell of apathy, sadness, crippling depression, hopelessness, and constant crying. In short, it has sucked. The past 3 days I haven't known how I was possibly going to make it through the day. I did, obviously, but I marvel that I was able to pull it off (it helps that my track record for making it through shitty days is 100% . . . think about it).
When I'm not balling my eyes out I'm stuck in this no-man's-land of complete apathy. I don't care about anything. I don't want to do anything. I could just stare off into space or at the wall and that would be perfectly fine with me. Or I could sleep to escape everything (which doesn't work for me because my body seems to have forgotten how to nap).
This is the part of depression I think that many people forget. It's easy to pay attention to the person in pain who is sobbing uncontrollably or who is suicidal. But to look at me today, right now, you may balk at the idea of me being depressed. Because I'm not actively showing it.
Here's my day so far: I drug myself out of bed at 8 for the sole reason that I had to pee. Once up, I decided it would be better for me to just stay up, rather than just lying around in bed. I came out to the living room and sat on the couch. I then proceeded to stare off into space for about 30 minutes. You need to do something, I told myself. Okay, alright, I'll make coffee and check my email. That killed about 5 minutes. I sat back down on the couch and stared at my coffee cup for about another 30 minutes. You should do something. Okay, what? Go to the gym, clean the bathrooms, shower, get your son from Grandma's who YOU HAVEN'T SEEN FOR 3 DAYS BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN COPE WITH THINGS!!! That's too much work. I don't care. So I got on the computer and got on Pinterest fro 20 minutes, not even paying much attention to what I was scrolling through.
I won't work out today because putting on gym clothes is too much work. Seriously. That, and I don't care. I'm going to do my best to clean the bathrooms - not because I want to or need to or have the energy to, but because I don't want my hubby to judge me for not accomplishing anything. However, if I don't get it done? I don't care. I want to go to the grocery store and get strawberries and a pineapple but that will involve me showering and leaving the house. And interacting with people. This, I probably will do because my craving for strawberries and pineapple is great. So that's one thing. (but how long will it take me to get showered?)
Now the hard thing . . . picking up my son from Grandma's house. He's been over there since Sunday. He's spent the night every night. My mother-in-law is watching him because I haven't been able to cope with things. Like being around my son. I want to see him, truly, I do, but I'm worried about breaking down in front of him. I'm worried about how I'll act around him (bitchy and snippy and short-tempered is my guess). He's 7 - he doesn't deserve that.
My apathy is pronounced. I don't want to do anything. I don't care about anything. Everything that used to bring me joy (family, drawing, painting, sewing . . .) doesn't anymore. At. All. I'd do just as well staring at the wall. I forced myself to paint yesterday and I felt nothing doing it. Just going through the motions. I'm just going through the motions with everything.
It's easy to see "how depressed" I am when I'm crying. When I'm laying on the floor sobbing and wanting to die. It's obvious then. But at times like this, when I'm emotionally walled up and apathetic, it's a bit more difficult. It's just as bad right now, it's just not as raw. And I can certainly hide it better in this state (which I hope I can do at work tomorrow).
So I'm stuck. I'm stuck in this depressive, apathetic state, which is no fun at all. And even though I'm trying to do things differently so I can change this, I almost don't care enough to do that.
Almost.
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