Yesterday I was mostly okay. Kind of.

I tend to overthink things, and not just big things - everything.  I overthink all the things. Sometimes this is good. Mostly, it's bad.

Yesterday I was overthinking things. About my mood swings. You know what? It would probably be helpful to tell you about my day to lend context to what I was overthinking. Maybe.

But that's what I'm going to do, so you'll just have to deal with it.

I worked yesterday, in trans (meaning in the transition nursery, where I attend deliveries and care for the newborns). I woke up feeling mostly okay. Not great, but okay. My jaw locked first thing in the morning - like at 7am (I have lock jaw from an old karate injury from high school and it's been flaring up bad lately I think from ECT - bite block and tense, tight muscles during seizures probably not good for my jaw). Luckily I was able to relax the muscles and get my jaw to open before my first delivery (at 9:30). Not that I needed to to do a delivery, but it's much comfortable when you're able to actually open your mouth to talk.

So mom smokes pot (legal in Colorado for adults over 21 - not legal for an infant to be exposed. DHS gets involved, baby gets drug tested through the umbilical cord and urine). Pot crosses into breast milk and we encourage these moms to either quit smoking pot, or to not breastfeed. But we can't stop them from breastfeeding. We give them the education and they make their own choice. I was informing mom of this when grandma starts going off on me. Yelling, rude, obnoxious. I managed to stay professional. Now, she wasn't going off because her daughter smoked pot - she was going off because how dare I imply that smoking pot could be bad and maybe I should smoke a bowl because I'm way too fucking uptight.

I did my teaching and left. Vented in the nurses station. But I noticed something: an exaggerated emotional response brewing. I had gotten angry and frustrated, I vented (and cussed), and that should have been the end. But oh no, not for my brain. No. I felt completely overwhelmed, anxious, angry, and as if I was going to completely lose my shit and break down sobbing uncontrollably. I felt despair taking over. I wanted to curl in a ball and hide away from everything. This is not okay. I argued with my mind, with my thoughts, reoriented and centered myself, used all my little CBT and DBT tricks that I know, did everything in my power to be okay. And after about an hour of wrestling with my thoughts and my feelings I was approaching mostly okay again.

I ate my breakfast with B (charge nurse), talked, tried to joke. And it was okay. I was okay again.

Until I wasn't.

My next episode came out of nowhere for no reason. I was chatting with the L&D nurses (trying to be normal over here . . .) and then WHAM! Despair, hopelessness, on the verge of breaking down sobbing. I have no idea why. I got up and went to the locker room to be alone. I fought my thoughts, countered them, constantly, over and over. No, you don't want to die. You aren't going to cut - no, not even a little. You're not stupid or fat - you've lost weight! NO! You're not taking all of your pills tonight - you want to LIVE. Everyone isn't out to get you. They care about you. Stop this ridiculous thinking. You can get past this. You have before, you will again. Over and over and over. Reorient myself (you're at work in the locker room. You're sitting on the bench. Take some deep breaths. That's it. In . . . out. You're wearing your new shoes and fun new socks - taco dinosaurs for fucks sake! You want to live and your going to live. Just breathe . . .).

After about 30 minutes I felt okay enough to leave the locker room. I didn't feel mostly okay yet - but I felt like I didn't have to hide. I chatted with our CNAs, trying to interact, not withdraw, appear/be normal, joke, everything's fine here people. And it was again, for a little bit.

Until it wasn't.

A little before lunch (like 1pm or so) I was blindsided by overwhelming despair. I felt exhausted, like I couldn't possibly keep going. It was bad. I needed 2 things - a hug and a nap. But I'm at work. I can't nap. I can get a hug though. From B (we're friends). I start walking over to post partum to awkwardly ask for a hug but I never made it. No, I had to pop into an empty patient room to sob uncontrollably for 10 or more minutes. And then I stayed hiding in there for awhile - I'm not even sure how long. I calmed myself, reoriented, centered, wrestled with my thoughts and emotions. When I left that room I wasn't mostly okay. I'm not sure I was even slightly okay. But I was functional and I could put on my mask.

And this is how the rest of my day went. Over and over I had to struggle against my mind, bring myself back to reality, fight against my thoughts and emotions. And this got me thinking - what if these types of mood swings aren't related to bipolar disorder? What if something else is going on?

What popped into my head was borderline personality disorder - which is characterized by intense mood swing lasting hours to days. So I started reading about it, comparing what I read to my life, overanalyzing/overthinking. I certainly match some of the diagnostic criteria. But other stuff? Not so much. But still I kept thinking about it and thinking about it. I had J read the diagnostic criteria when I got home to see what he thought. He said no. And what would it matter anyway? The only real treatment is therapy, which I've already been doing for 4 years.

But why then? Why were my moods so labile? Why did I get so bad so fast? And why was I (mostly) able to get a little better?

Well, in a word I think, I'm bipolar. And regardless of what the DSM would have you believe, people with bipolar disorder can and do have mood swings that occur this rapidly. It can happen the other way too, with mania, and it has with me.

As to why I was able to mostly be okay? I'm trying insanely fucking hard to counter my errors of thinking. I'm trying insanely fucking hard to be okay. I'm actively using everything I've learned in 4 years of therapy - both CBT and DBT. I'm doing everything I fucking can to battle this illness and take back my life.

You know what? I'm not entirely sure I made any sort of point with this post. And I don't really care.

fuck

There's a good chance that I should be in the hospital right now. And if I'm thinking that . . . well . . .

It's just that I'm struggling - really struggling right now. I can't keep my moods managed. I'm irrationally angry or I'm sobbing and full of despair. Maybe it's my new med, Prestiq, causing this. Or not. Maybe it's something entirely different. I have no fucking clue but I'm not doing well.

I feel like I can't cope with anything. I want to curl in a little ball and block out all stimulation. I want to cut. I want to scream and throw things. These are the only ways I can see myself coping.

This morning I drove to my mother-in-law's house to pick up my son. I had to pull over because I was crying so hard I couldn't see. Pulled myself together, got him and went to work with my horses. Felt a little better. Okay. Good. See? You'll be fine. You're fine.

As I drove home, my anger was building. We went grocery shopping, my anger was building. Putting away groceries I yelled at my son and I could feel the anger spiraling out of control. So I went to my bedroom and sat down. Figured I'd give myself a little "time out", do some deep breathing, gain my composure and control.

Instead, I lost my shit and cried for 30+ minutes. I kept thinking, I wish hubs and the boy didn't care so much, that way I could just go, just be done with it. I was staring at my wrists through my tears, visually tracing the cuts I would make.

No.

I kept telling myself, "I don't want to die. I'm going to live." My new mantra. Over and over. I know the constant thoughts about death and suicide are because of the depression. Depression lies. I know this. Think of all the good. There's so much good. So many people love me and care about me.

I know this. I know all of this. But I sit and sob and stare at my wrists.

I'm so fucking sick of this.

Well, it's Friday

I want to start by saying that I fucking HATE bipolar disorder. I really, really, fucking hate it. Like, a LOT.

I worked on Wednesday and it was a horrible day. It was busy, which was probably good, because it kept me distracted. My mood was awful. I was depressed, tired, full of despair, angry, and a host of other negative feelings. I cut (I have my scalpel in my locker). When I got home I lost it. And I lost it good. It was the ugly cry X10 and I wanted to die. Or, at the very least, I wanted to cut my arm to shreds. Hubs and kiddo had to work overtime pulling me from the brink. It was so bad.

Then yesterday, Thursday, I had a mandatory class for work. Knowing how my mood has been I was dreading it. But I ended up hypomanic. I was inappropriate and obnoxious. I was entertaining. I had fun. It was wonderful! It was glorious! Thank GOD!

After class I had therapy and we started trauma work. It went well. M gave me some ideas on how to manage my overreactive emotions. Yesterday was a good day. Hooray!! A good day!

And then there's today. A day that's really not a good day. Again I want to curl in a ball and not exist. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to be okay. To interact with people. But I'm so fucking angry today. At everything. And I feel exhausted and overwhelmed. And depressed. And like everything is pointless and stupid. I'm trying to counter, trying to stay positive, trying to remain calm and destress . . .

I really hate this. Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I just be okay? Why do I have to fight depression so much? I don't want to feel everything so much.

I'm meeting a friend for coffee which means interaction which will exhaust me more. And I work tomorrow which will mean interaction which may exhaust me more.

Or maybe I'll be hypomanic again, who knows?

That's the thing though - I never know. And that's exhausting.

I have more I want to write I just don't have it in me right now.

Depressive Symptoms Coming Back

Just got back from a week long vacation to California.

We spent a couple days in Orange County visiting my family. We stayed with my Grandma (on my dad's side) and spent time with my aunts and uncle. It's always great seeing them but it was taxing. Interacting with them really took it out of me - more so than I thought it was going to.

Then we headed to San Diego for Comic Con and the zoo. We spend 5 days there, stayed in a little studio apartment. And I didn't handle it as well as I wanted to.

What was going on, you ask?

I've been having some depressive symptoms coming back. Getting overwhelmed easily, turning into a horrid rage monster at the slightest provocation, having intense feelings of despair wash over me for seemingly no reason, wanting/needing to cut, suicidal thoughts. . .

Let me give you some examples:
 
     - We're at comic con, waiting in a line. The line starts to move forward but the person in front of us lags and isn't moving forward right away. My blood boils, fists clench, teeth grind. It takes every ounce of self control not to shove the person and tell them to MOVE THE FUCK FORWARD ALREADY!! ARE YOU THAT FUCKING STUPID??? CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT THE FUCKING LIKE IS MOVING?? FUCKING MOVE!!!!!!!!! I shake, I take deep breaths, I try to think of calming things and then suddenly I feel like crying because everything is too much to handle. Everything is too hard and too overwhelming.

     - We get home yesterday and hubbs and I have sex. And it was good. And we're snuggling after and I get flooded with despair. Life really has no meaning. I spend every day fighting my distorted thoughts and fighting my feelings and it's not worth it. It's not going to get better. I need to cut. I need to feel a blade slicing through my skin. That's easier than dealing with this. I start to tear up, start to cry, and I know I'm going to lose my shit and I DO NOT want to lose my shit because if I do I won't be able to stop the tears and I KNOW I'll end up cutting. So I talk to hubbs and somehow - don't ask me how - I manage to not lose my shit. I push on and we go shopping and have dinner and watch some tv, but the whole time I'm still struggling with feelings of despair.

     - Today I had ECT (would have normally had it on Monday but was in California). I would prefer to have ECT on Mondays because I know my mom can pick me up and I have Mondays off. So I told the nurse that I would need to have ECT next Monday, not Wednesday. I'm waking up, getting my shoes on and whatnot and she hands me my discharge paper which has my next appointment on it. Which is for a week from Monday (meaning a week and a half between sessions). I guess my expression gave away what I was feeling because she asked what was wrong. I told her I didn't feel comfortable waiting that long (but Dr. M doesn't want me in earlier than a week). It felt like my world was crashing down around me. Like I couldn't possibly cope, I can't possibly handle this. I'm already struggling and now I have to wait a week and a half. I nearly broke down sobbing.

Scenarios like those? They happen a lot. A lot. Several times a day, every day. For the most, part I can keep them under wraps, these stupid fucking mood swings (and by under wraps I mean I haven't attacked anyone, screamed at anyone, curled myself into a little ball and rocked myself while mumbling, break down sobbing uncontrollably, or cut myself). But I come close. Scarily close. And even though I don't "officially" lose my shit, I'm still dealing with these feelings. I'm still struggling to manage them.

I keep reminding myself that I'm doing way better than before I started ECT. Way better (considering I was planning on killing myself if I wasn't approved for it or if it didn't help - scary, but true). I spend more time feeling "okay" than I do feeling like shit - and that's good. (Though I wish I spent more time feeling happy).

And again - take things a day at a time, a moment at a time. I also think I need to lower my expectations. It's just so frustrating.

Depression vs Unhappiness

I've been pretty shitty the past several days. Very shitty. Depressed, sobbing, struggling. I've been trying to figure things out. I like having shit figured out.

My first two weeks of ECT I went 3 times a week - Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I started feeling better quickly. I was the poster child for how ECT should work. Then we switched to weekly. I had ECT on Monday. By Friday my mood was starting to slip, starting to drop. So I saw Dr. M the next Monday and told him about that. He doesn't want to increase the frequency of ECT treatments (the goal, after all, is to eventually space them out to monthly). He told me to call his office and make an appointment so we could adjust my meds.

That appointment was last Wednesday. We're increasing my lithium from 600mg to 900mg. I'm not optimistic that this will help at all - I've been as high as 1200mg without any added benefit. But we'll see I guess. He also told me that he doesn't believe I'll ever not need ECT. Meds historically haven't worked well for me and he thinks I'll always need to have ECT. Again, the goal is to get me to monthly treatments but he sees me staying weekly for the foreseeable future.

Then last Thursday night, as I was getting ready for bed, I realized I couldn't remember if I had taken my meds. See, I normally take my night meds around 8:30, and here it was 9:30 and I couldn't remember if I had taken them. Well, I couldn't take a dose at that time because I can't double up on my Seroquel. That's a bad idea for me.

Thursday night I didn't sleep. Maybe 3 hours? Which means I probably hadn't taken my meds (Seroquel knocks me out). So now here I am, having missed meds and not slept. And Friday was horrible. I spent the majority of it sobbing uncontrollably. I cut. And I cut deep. Deep enough it needed stitches (which I did not go get).

Saturday I worked and my mood was equally as bad. I hid. I didn't want to interact. I tried though. I forced myself to. My coworkers knew I was struggling and they rallied around me. Gave me hugs, words of encouragement, and checked on my patients for me when I was unable to do so (I spent a good hour hiding in the break room sobbing). I wanted to cut so bad, but I didn't. I folded paper cranes instead. On of the labor nurses cleaned my cut and put steri strips over it for me (kind of like stitches but it's really sticky tape).

Sunday I was still crap. J and I went to the gym (I really didn't want to, but I really fucking need to). His brother wanted to go bowling with us. I didn't go. I couldn't. I desperately didn't want to. It didn't sound fun and I didn't want to interact.

Today I had ECT and I talked about all of this with Dr. M. Asked him what more I could do. His response was classic: "Well you could stop cutting yourself for starters!" He said the cutting is probably related to trauma or unhappiness. I asked him, "So I have to be like Billy Crystal in City Slickers and find my happiness?" (I've mentioned that to M as well).

It got me thinking: how am I unhappy? What's making me unhappy? I did an inventory of symptoms:

- difficulty waking in the mornings
- increased appetite
- consistent weight gain
- no motivation to workout
- no motivation to clean the house
- not wanting to do things
- not caring about my appearance (I've been wearing hardly any makeup, haven't been doing my hair, wearing gym clothes)
- not wanting to interact with people
- feeling worthless
- feeling like things are pointless (why should I bother? nothing matters)
- feeling like life is too difficult, people would be better off without me (suicidal thoughts, can't do this anymore)
- not finding joy in things (doing things, my artwork, working with the kids at the riding center - I like spending time with the horses, but working with the kids isn't feeling rewarding like it used to)

All of that stuff right there? That's depression. Those are symptoms of depression. Now, last few days aside, overall my depressive symptoms have been better. Overall I feel a hell of a lot better than I have (because, to be perfectly honest, had I not started ECT when I did, I would have killed myself - I was planning it). So I'm better. I am.

I've been trying to figure out the last few days. Did I become exponentially worse because I missed a dose of Seroquel and didn't sleep? Can that really fuck me up that much?? Am I that sensitive?

And so then the cutting. And the uncontrollable sobbing. Is that unhappiness? Trauma? Depression? All of it?

Like, if I had taken my meds Thursday night like normal and slept, would I have been fine this past weekend?

And how fucking frustrating is that?? I don't sleep one night and I completely lose my shit.

The past few weeks have made me realize how much I truly need to take things a day at a time. How much I truly need to stay in the moment. I'm not going to have the answers for everything and I have to be okay with that.  I also do have to remember that I have bipolar disorder - a chronic, progressive illness - and that I will have days that are worse than others. That I will have times where I will lose my shit for seemingly no reason. And that sucks. But that's reality. I think another problem is I was secretly under the impression that I would have ECT, start feeling better, and then miraculously not need it anymore and be essentially "cured" of my symptoms. Bitch, you're bipolar. For life. Fucking accept and deal with it.

It also doesn't help that I think personality wise I tend to lean towards more melancholy. Always have. I need to focus on little joys. Keep forcing myself to interact and be upbeat - even when I don't feel it.

And I need to not cut.

Ugh.

Been awhile since I last wrote. I don't know how long. I don't really care, either. I really don't fucking care about much right now.

Why?

Fucking depression. It won't. Fucking. Leave.

I was started on Lexapro, 10mg. Then we increased it 20mg. Then we increased my Lamictal from 200mg to 400mg. And you know what? Fucking nothing.

Nope. Depression is hanging on, gaining strength, trying to overtake me completely. I've cried so much today it's stupid. It's pathetic. It's tiring and I'm so fucking done with this.

Hubby tells me to hang in there. This will get better. We'll get you better.

Really? Because the depression is fucking here. It doesn't go away. From where I stand, it's not getting better.

Everything is overwhelming. Interacting with people is overwhelming. Going to the store is overwhelming. Packing is overwhelming. Everything is fucking overwhelming.

I put on my happy face. I try to "fake it till I make it". I do all of my positive CBT stuff I've learned. But I'm dying on the inside. I'm shattered and broken and I'm trying so hard to hide it.

I'm fucking tired and I'm sick of it.

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.

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?

So some shit happened

And by shit, I mean SHIT. Serious shit, y'all. And I'm going to write about it, and I'm going to be blunt and visceral and personal.

Because I'm lucky to be alive to be writing this.

Last week I came the closest I ever have to killing myself. And had I attempted, I probably would have completed. I had a plan and a backup plan. I had a backup plan to my backup plan.

If you know me, you wouldn't have known any of this. I hid it. I hid it as well as I could from everyone. Even my hubby and best friend. Why? Because if they knew then I couldn't carry it out. Now let me tell you something that may not make any sense - I don't want to die. I flat out don't want to die.

So why suicide . . . ?

I was put on a medication called Depakote. It's a mood stabilizer that was going to replace my lithium. I was started on a low dose - 1000mg. After 2 weeks I was more depressed. I was having some thoughts of death. And I knew it was the Depakote. I saw my psych doc and told him this. His response? No, it's not the Depakote, you need to go up on the dose. We're going to double it. I stared at him a minute. Seriously? I just told you I've had worsening depression since starting it! No, go up to 2000mg.

So I did. He knows what he's talking about, right? Wrong.

During the first week at 2000mg, I became obsessed with death and dying. I purposefully read books that centered around suicide - it was on my mind all the time. The thoughts were intrusive - I didn't want them there - I really didn't. They were disturbing. They were scary. I had my hubby lock up all of my meds.

My second week at 2000mg was the most horrific week of my life. I spent hours sobbing, curled in a ball on the floor, wishing I could just die. The pain was so bad I just . . . I needed to die.

If you've never been at this place, this place of utter terror and pain and despair, you'll never quite understand this. The pain is guttural, animalistic. It reaches into every fiber of your being. It hurts emotionally, mentally, and physically. While I cried, while I sobbed and wailed and screamed and pounded my fists, all I wanted was the pain to end. The torture to end. I hit my head against the wall. I burned myself with a cigarette lighter. I would have cut myself but the blades had all been locked up. There was no way I could go on like this. No way I could possibly continue to live like this. How could anyone? How could anyone be expected to live with this much pain?? Death was the only way out.

Last Wednesday night I told my hubby that it was a matter of when, not if, I would kill myself. I know I scared him. I was sobbing, laying on him, hurting and scared and tired. I was so tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of hurting. Tired of trying and having nothing work. I was tired. I told him that I wanted to die and that it was a good thing my pills were locked up. I knew I needed to go to the hospital then, but I didn't. He knew, but didn't press it.

Thursday morning was bad. I felt worse. But I had to press on, right? I had to take my son to his therapy session. And his therapist, upon seeing me, told me to call my therapist. I trembled. I knew I needed to be admitted but I needed someone to tell me that. I needed validation that it was okay. That I needed to be safe. I went into the bathroom and called my therapist, sobbing so hard I was almost incoherent. He told me what I needed to hear: go to the damn hospital.

And I did. I admitted myself on Thursday afternoon. Had I not, I would have overdosed on Geodon. One medication that isn't locked up because I take it every day. I have way more than enough to do the job. And had I not gone to the hospital, well . . . well those pills would have been down my throat.

I was discharged today, Tuesday. I'm still depressed. Damn depressed, actually. But I'm no longer suicidal. Depakote was the culprit in this - my first day off of it and the suicidal thoughts went away.

Last week I felt the worse that I ever have in my life. I never want to feel that way again. Ever. I can't. I came scarily close to killing myself. Closer than I ever need to come because I have wonderful friends and family.

I can't put into words the amount of pain I was in. I wish I could. I wish I could make you understand. But until you've been there, you can't possibly.

I'm alive. I'm going to Boston on Sunday to see the bipolar specialists and maybe get a new perspective. I'm trying to stay positive.

But I'm still so tired.

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.

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.

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.

Stupid Med Changes

First let me remind you about my med changes. Almost 2 weeks ago I saw my psychiatrist. My depression was coming back and I wanted to get on the ball and take action early. So I made an appointment and we talked about what as going on. He agreed we needed to be a little more aggressive and not wait for it to get worse. He raised my Lamictal does from 200mg daily to 250mg daily and started me back on Wellbutrin.

The other thing I had talked with him about was stopping the Geodon due to sexual side effects. He said he thought it was safe to do so. After my first decrease from 80mg to 40mg I had rebound hypomania the following day (read about it here).

This past Thursday (the 20th) was my first night not taking the Geodon. I slept for 1 hour. Maybe. Could have been less. Friday was weird. I was depressed and felt . . . off. Even mucking stalls and being around the horses didn't help. But I minimized it and told myself that that was Friday and it was probably due to lack of sleep and that Saturday might be different. Day to day.

Saturday came and I was at work. It was not a good day. I spent much of my time hiding in the report room curled in a ball in the corner because I was depressed and couldn't face people. I'm exhausted, I told myself (I had slept 6 hours the night before). Tomorrow will be different. Tomorrow will be better.

Then Sunday came and again I was at work. I started the day almost a little hypomanic. I had tons of energy, I was joking around, I was inappropriate, I was talking fast. I calmed a little after report and assessed my patients. Around 9am I started to feel funny. I started to feel down. At 9:30 it hit me - severe depression. I was charting. I closed out my chart and just barely made it to the bathroom before I started balling. I was in there, crying uncontrollably, for 30 minutes. I felt horrible and alone and empty and I wanted to die. But I composed myself, walked out and walked behind the front desk. I meant to ask the CNA there if I looked okay when one of my managers saw me. Her eyes got wide and she asked if I was okay. I shook my head no and started crying again. She rushed over and hugged me and asked what was wrong.

"I just had a med change and I think it's made me depressed and I want to get a scalpel because I kinda want to die." I hadn't intended to admit my suicidal thoughts (though I'm glad I did).

She looked at me and told me that I couldn't hurt myself because there were too many people who cared for me. She asked if I needed to go to the hospital. I told her probably, I was feeling bad enough to but that I didn't want to go back - it's only been 3 months since my last hospitalization. We talked and agreed that I could go home to be with my hubby and son with the understanding that if I didn't improve I'd admit myself.

So home I went and I did everything I could to lift my spirits - including a nap and a hot bubble bath (while listening to music that makes me happy). I emailed Dr. C and he agreed that this was due to me stopping the Geodon and he said I obviously need it and to start back up at 40mg. I emailed my therapist and he told me if I needed to see him this week (my next appointment is the 1st) that he would make time for me.

Today I'm mildly depressed and have no motivation for anything (except maybe staring at the wall). I was a little better this morning than I am now, but I'll manage. I'm hoping that with being back on the Geodon my mood will improve quickly.

I'm tired of setbacks like this. I just want a med combo that works and that I don't have to keep tweaking. Hopefully this current one of lithium, Lamictal, Wellbutrin and Geodon will work (I also hate being on 4 meds for this stupid disease).

Oh well. As long as I can reach - and maintain - stability, that's all that matters.

Depression

My depression is getting worse. I've broke down sobbing twice today. I don't want to talk to people about it because I'm being "selfish". I'm trying to take things one day at a time but it's getting harder each day and things that once brought me joy just don't anymore. Not even mucking stalls, which I did today, helped my mood. I'm tired of this.

The End.

Let's talk about things

This post will be . . . difficult I think. And personal. Because I don't see my therapist again until next week and I need to get shit out. Air out some bones.

Friday through Monday (starting last week) were horrible days for me. I was irritable. I was depressed. I felt awful. I had feelings of despair and hopelessness. I broke down crying on Sunday. It felt like the old me. The depressed me.

The familiar me.

I did what I could to brush off the feelings. I minimized them. I ignored them. I tried to stay in the moment. I took it day by day, hoping the next day would be better. I didn't catastrophize, I didn't ruminate, I stopped negative thoughts and replaced them with positive ones.

And it worked somewhat.

On Sunday after crying I was able to joke a little - I could move past the despair. On Monday it was difficult. I was at work and I was down and withdrawn and irritable. I hid a lot. I avoided people (which didn't go unnoticed). But I got through the day despite how tired and drained I was.

Yesterday I was at the riding center most of the day. I mucked stalls in the morning which lifted my spirits. Now, I was withdrawn there - I usually talk with the other people there but yesterday I pretty much kept to myself. Interacting proved difficult. I was horribly drained from the previous four days, but I went back in the afternoon for the classes - which was probably a mistake - it took everything out of me.

But I pressed on and last night I was more light hearted and able to joke a bit.

So I'm taking things day by day. I have to - I have no choice. Day by day I have to be acutely aware of my feelings. Day by day I have to check in with myself to make sure I'm not swinging outside the realm of normalcy. And day by day this is exhausting.

It has to be done though. Because here's my problem:

I think I may be starting another mood episode. Possibly caused by the stress of being back at work. And that's not the only problem.

I like to self sabotage. We all know this, right? We all know that I have issues with being "normal", with being "okay". We all know that I'm used to being depressed. I don't know how to not be depressed.

And this is a HUGE problem. See, part of me is excited at the prospect of another mood episode, of going into a state of depression again. Part of me welcomes tis whole heartedly. It's like visiting a friend you haven't seen in a long time - where you pick up as if no time has past. It's like being home. It's familiar and comfortable and part of me longs to be there again.

I hate admitting this. I hate this part of me.

And I'm stamping it out. Or trying to. Which is harder than you think. I'm already dealing with looming depression (it truly is there) and to add to this . . . it's hard. It takes it out of me. I'm already drained and now I'm exhausting myself by fighting with myself.

Jealous?

This is what I'll be discussing in therapy next week. It troubles me and I want it to stop.

I want to stop having to check myself all the time. However, I think with this illness, that will never happen. Maybe it will lesson over time, but I think it will always be necessary.

And I say boo to that.

WTF, self?

No, seriously, what the fuck?

The past week has been pretty damn rough on me. Hell, the last few weeks. I'm steadily going down hill. Slowly, but steadily. It started with becoming more drained and overwhelmed - first at work, and then in general. Then I started to feel more down. Not depressed - just down.

And now? The past 4 days? Depression. Not too deep, not too bad, but it's there. That dirty motherfucker is there.

Stupid fucking Ted.

Friday at work was bad. I didn't know how I was going to make it through. Saturday was worse. The depression was more pressing. Sunday? Well, Sunday started off better but I slid, and I cried, and I felt despair and hopeless and scared.

And today. I'm at work right now. I'm writing because I need to. My mood today has been better than the last 3 - I feel more down today than depressed (thank God for small favors). But everything is overwhelming me and I can't bear to be around people. I've always been okay with patients but not today. Today interacting with patients is proving difficult.

I've been hiding from people. Coworkers. I just can't do it. A 2 minute conversation leaves me drained and down. I don't even want to talk with my best friend. I'm so drained that I almost don't want to go work with the horses tomorrow (now you know it's bad).

And here's the frustrating thing: I'm doing things right. I'm actually not catastrophizing this. I'm actually not ruminating on this. I talked with my best friend about it and I'm writing this. I talked with my hubby the past couple of days and that's it. I'm curbing negative self talk and countering it with positive. I'm not letting myself do all of the things I used to do in the past.

I'm doing everything right.

I don't want to jump to conclusions. I don't want to think that I'm starting another mood episode. Because I can't. I've decided to give this a week or two, see if it clears up. If not, then I'll make an appointment with Dr. C and I guess go on an antidepressant.

It's just that I hate this so much and I don't know what I should do. I need to vent but I can't ruminate or beat myself up over this. So I'll write this and I'll move on. I'm going to try and ignore this, downplay it. Not make much out of it. Maybe that will help.

Maybe I'm in denial.

At any rate, fuck you, Ted.  

Worried about work . . .

I start back to work next Saturday (the 11th). Now, keep in mind that I'm an RN and I deliver babies. TOTALLY not a high stress job. Nope. No stress here.

And I'm worried. I am seriously worried about going back. Everything overwhelms me. I'm supposed to be going to a friend's house on Saturday to visit and her kiddos are sick so we had to postpone. I lost my shit people. My world came crashing down. Anxiety, despair, anger, confusion, and the feeling like I couldn't possibly go on. Seriously.

My hubby and son wanted to teach me how to play Minecraft on the Xbox (I don't play video games). After 5 minutes of play trying to figure out the dumb controller I about lost my shit. I held it in because of my 6 year old son sitting next to me, but the feelings were all there.

I almost embedded my sewing bobbin in the wall and then broke down sobbing because it wouldn't feed correctly.

My mind still races. I have difficulty concentrating. I'm agitated and irritable and feel restless like I need to MOVE. If I don't stay constantly busy, depressive thoughts try to steal their way back in. They slink around in the background, waiting to pounce, waiting for me to let down my guard.

And I'm supposed to go back to work. In a high stress job that I absolutely LOVE, but that requires me to be at the top of my game. That requires me to focus and concentrate and make snap (sometimes life and death, literally) decisions.

My manager is awesome. She's a godsend. She'll support me in whatever I need. For this I am lucky. For this I am grateful. But I can't afford to be out on leave - and I only have 6 more weeks of FMLA available anyway. After that . . . nothing. And with my track record of hospitalizations . . .

So I'm worried. I'm worried about how I'm supposed to go back to work. Maybe next week I'll be more stable. Maybe next week I won't be overwhelmed by everything.

And maybe I won't be better.

And so I worry.

Fuck you, Geodon

I'm exceedingly annoyed this morning. All because of Geodon. The med that is supposed to help me. The med that is supposed to manage my mixed episode and have fewer side effects than the other antipsychotics.

Well, fuck you.

The first night on it was horrible thanks to the drowsiness. But that passed and the next couple of nights were fine. Hooray! *throws confetti* But I had to increase my dose - from 40mg to 80mg. The next couple of mornings I was groggy. Not too bad, but enough to be mildly annoying.

Then I had a couple of mornings where I was very groggy. Like, barely-keep-my-eyes-open-for-more-than-a-few-minutes groggy. And one of these mornings I was dizzy, lightheaded and felt like I was going to faint.

For an hour.

Then, a good morning. Yay! My body is adjusting to the increased dose!

Nope. It's not.

Yesterday morning I was so groggy it was painful and was dizzy and lightheaded again. So I decided that I would take my Geodon earlier in the evening - I'd been taking it shortly before bed (and it wasn't making me drowsy after taking it anymore).

Boom. Done. Decision made.

Bad decision.

I took it at 7pm last night and by 8 I couldn't keep my eyes open. Literally. I was so fucking drowsy it was stupid. So, off to bed I go. I haven't slept the last 3 nights anyway, so I might as well turn in early.

It would have been okay if I was able to sleep. I laid in bed, to drowsy to physically or mentally function but I couldn't fall asleep. My mind was slowly racing. Lots of thoughts, just at a slower pace than when my mind usually races.

I was drowsy as fuck but I couldn't sleep.

I was already dreading bedtime since I hadn't been sleeping well. I was already dreading bedtime knowing how I'd feel in the morning. And now I get to dread bedtime knowing that the Geodon has decided to make me stupid drowsy again.

I eventually did fall asleep - probably around 10:30 or so. I woke up many times to pee (at least 5 after 10:30 - I went 4 times between 8 and 9). When I woke up this morning, however, I was wide awake. Thank the baby Jesus for small favors!!!

But now, what to do tonight? When should I take my meds? How will I sleep? How am I going to wake up? I'm seriously developing a phobia about bedtime thanks to this. I was in tears last night because I couldn't go to sleep. Because I was so fucking drowsy but I couldn't sleep. J doesn't know that part - the crying part. Well, until he reads this. Now he knows.

It's just so frustrating. I shouldn't have to deal with this. This, on top of still being in my mixed episode.

How the fuck am I supposed to function? How the fuck am I supposed to go back to work?

Bleh

I have this need to write, but at the same time I feel very apathetic. I just don't care.

I told J today that I don't have depression, I don't feel depressed, I'm not down. And for the most part, that's true. I don't feel depressed. And I'm not depressed.

But right now I am most definitely down. I've been down most of the day. Not depressed - just down. And my irritability keeps shooting through the roof. Everything sets me off. Everything. I nearly lodged my sewing bobbin in the wall yesterday because it wouldn't feed right. I threw it at the wall and then broke down sobbing.

I'm overwhelmed by everything. Everything. Even small things. J and I were supposed to spend the day with our friends. Well, their kiddos are sick so we couldn't go. I felt like I couldn't cope with life. I couldn't find a matching sock in the laundry and my world about fell apart.

This is not okay. This is not normal. I know I'm still in a mixed episode - I get that. I do. I know it's going to take time for my Geodon to get to therapeutic levels. I get that. I do.

But can't I get a break?

I mean yeah, I'm not depressed. Which is fucking awesome, thank you. But this constant irritability and agitation, racing thoughts. I get distracted easily. It's hard for me to carry on a conversation sometimes. And being overwhelmed by everything. It's frustrating. Fuck it, let's be honest - this shit is infuriating.

I'm tired of having symptoms that won't go the fuck away. I'm tired of snapping at my husband and my son. Especially my son. I have no tolerance for him. And it pains me so much to say that. You have no idea. Actually writing that out? Almost in tears (I'm not in tears only because I'm stifling them).

So yeah. Can't I get a fucking break??

In other news, I painted a horse today. So that's good. I was going to post the picture but blogger is fucking up the quality. So check it out here if you'd like to see it.

That's all I guess. Cheers, y'all.

It's Christmas Eve and I got pissed at church

And I don't mean I got pissed during church (well, I did, but bare with me). I got pissed at church. As in the entity of the church. The thought, the notion, the feeling, the tradition, the meaning. The church.

It pissed me off.

I'm not even sure I can explain this. Because it doesn't make sense. But I'm going to try, mostly for my own sanity and/or amusement.

J is Catholic so tonight we went to Catholic mass. Let me just throw out there that I dislike mass. I find it boring and pointless. And all the damn singing and standing and sitting and kneeling and now stand again. It needs a dislike button.

So we're sitting in the pews, listening to the choir, and I started feeling irritable. At nothing. Just irritable. And this cute family, mother, father, and 6 month old or so son sat a couple pews ahead of us.

I hated them.

For no reason. Then her friend or sister showed up with her husband and two kids and I hated them equally as much. Look at these two families, all happy and festive, enjoying themselves in church. Fuck them. I shot daggers at them with my eyes.

An elderly gentleman sat next to the second couple - a little to close for what my personal bubble would be - and I fumed. I screamed at him in my mind that he was sitting to close and why the fuck are you not following social boundaries??? You have a whole fucking pew and you had to sit that close??

More singing. Where the fuck is the damn priest? Why is the singing not stopping? Oh, now we have to stand. Good.

I fumed. I looked around the congregation at all the people, hundreds of faces. Everyone seemed so happy and content to be spending Christmas eve with their families in church.

Fuck them.

Catholic mass on Christmas eve is the same every year. I swear that it's exactly the same. And tonight everything about it was adding fuel to the fire. My irrational anger, my irritability and rage were completely out of place - and confusing. I don't know why I was feeling the way I was. But I was and I didn't like it. I couldn't seem to stop it though.

So I did what I always do and tried to overanalyze the situation. Not much - just a little. All I could come up with was that I don't really like Christmas and that I'm still in a mixed episode.

Yep. Despite what I wish and what I'd like others to think, I'm still actually in a mixed episode. Not crazy from meds - that bit is over - but still mixed.

The entire time at church my mind was racing. And I mean racing. Flight of ideas, racing swirling thoughts about nothing and everything and the house and dog and mucking stalls and dolphins and bipolar and my wedding and friend's wedding and my bridesmaid's dresses were blue and T's were lavender and a flock of pigeons take flight and there's a fountain when should we take down the treewe'rehavingsandwichesonfridayatafriendshouseand. . . . . . It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop.

I couldn't shut up my mind. And that contributed to my irritability. And driving home, it continued. And I said a few random outbursts of ideas and thoughts that may or may not have had anything to do with each other. And I laughed.

I felt like I was going to laugh hysterically and cry uncontrollably at the same time. I felt like I would explode.

Instead of exploding, which would be messy, I went to the bathroom and took my meds. Tonight I increased my dose of Geodon. I was told when I left the hospital that if I was experiencing irritability in the afternoon or evenings to increase my dose. So I did. 80mg instead of 40mg.

I'm writing this under the influence of my racing mind which is gradually slowing thanks to the increased dose. I'm starting to get drowsy. I'm going to be honest - I don't know if what I've written makes much sense. But I'm not going to go back and read it. Because drowsy.

Night y'all. Have a Merry Christmas or whatever the hell you celebrate.