My Brain is Stupid

*Disclaimer: this post might be a rambling, jumble of nonsense. There is, I think, a high probability of that happening. You've been warned.*

I have now, officially, had 14 ECT treatments. The first 2 weeks were 3 times a week (my first treatment was June 1), then I went to weekly for several weeks, and now I'm every other week. If I was following Dr. M's trajectory, I'd be every 3 or every 4 weeks by now.

But I'm not following his trajectory. My depression is stubborn. My depression is a fucking asshole. My brain, Clancy, is being a huge fucking dick and is making things difficult.

Let me start by saying this: my depression is a lot better than what it was before ECT. If the ECT wasn't helping, I would be dead. I had it planned. So let's get this important piece of information clear: the ECT is helping.

But here's the rub: it's not holding me.

What do I mean by that? Well, I'll be floating along, doing pretty well for about a week to a week and a half after a treatment. And then my mood starts to slip, my mood starts to falter, starts to sink. Depression starts to sneak its way in. This lasts several days until I have my next treatment and then the process starts again. I've noticed the pattern, the nurses at the hospital have noticed the pattern, and Dr. M has noticed the pattern.

Now, this wouldn't be a big deal, I guess, if it were only a day or two. But it's not. It's 4 days or 5 days or 7 days. Each time it's more, longer. Over the past 4 or 5 weeks I've spent more time depressed than not - and that's NOT okay with me. That's NOT how this is supposed to fucking work.

I had ECT last Monday and then saw Dr. M in his office in the afternoon for a regular appointment, where we discussed all of this. He said we need to figure something out medication wise to help hold me over between ECT treatments, as we need to at least get those spaced to once a month (the ultimate goal is once every 6 weeks). We discussed options and decided to stop my Lexapro and switch me over to Prestiq. Now, as with any med change, it will take several weeks at least to see any changes.

Which fucking sucks because I feel like shit.

I'm floating around with this low grade depression. I call it low grade because I'm not actively suicidal. Notice I said not "actively" suicidal - I still think about killing myself. Every day.

So anyway, I'm floating around in this low grade depression. I'm not sobbing every day, breaking down, anything dramatic like that. I just don't care about much of anything. It's like I can't really muster up any emotion except for anger. I feel like I need to cry; I just can't. I don't have the emotion to make it happen. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to go to work or clean the house or draw or paint or play with my son or have sex or cook or exercise or talk to people. I force myself to do stuff - I don't allow myself to just stare into space - but it's difficult and I just don't care.

The only strong emotion I can muster is anger. And I'm fucking angry at everything. That's not an exaggeration. Every little fucking thing makes me angry. The littlest things set me off. Simple things, like misspelling a word while I'm typing, or needing to go to the bathroom. People talking to me or me dropping something. Every. Little. Fucking. Thing. And the anger is very volatile. It goes from nothing to full on rage in no time. I hate it.

Oh hey - remember how at the beginning I said jumbled mess of a post? Everything prior to this I wrote Sunday morning. Then I got cranky and went downstairs to workout. I got on my spin bike and then broke down sobbing. J came downstairs and held me, stayed with me. I kinda wanted to die. And by "kinda wanted" I mean I wanted to die. Sunday ended up pretty shitty mood wise.

This little bit I'm writing Monday. I don't know how I'm feeling today. Okay, I guess. I started the day VERY angry. Then I talked with a friend and went and worked with horses and that helped. Now I just feel . . . empty. I'm sitting here drinking some hot mint tea and I start thinking, ooooo, I can't wait until it's colder outside and I can wear sweaters and sip hot tea! And then my mind immediately reminds me that everything is pointless and hopeless and I would truly be better off dead.

It's like I can't just have a nice fucking thought. My brain has to go and fuck it up. This is very frustrating and I'm so sick of it. I'm tired of struggling.

Wrapped in Grey

I've been trying to come up with an accurate description of how I'm feeling. Or have felt. Or whatever. In the past, I've written about how it feels when I'm in the throes of depression - the agonizing, sobbing, everything is pointless, suicidal depression. And in the past, I know I've done a pretty good job of that.

But this depression is different.

This is not that agonizing, suicidal depression. No, I'm in the I-don't-feel-anything-and-life-is-pointless-and-meaningless type of depression. Which is bad in its own way. It's just different.

But how do I describe it? How do I make real this nothingness I'm feeling. This anhedonia.

I believe that everyone sees in color. They see the vibrant color of life. The beautiful 3 dimensional trueness of everything around them. The colors and substance have meaning and weight and permanence. There is passion behind those colors. There are feelings behind and associated with those colors. The colors truly have meaning.

Whereas I see everything as grey. Shades of grey (and I'm not talking about that popular book . . .). Everything is dull and grimy and flat - 2 dimensional. There is no passion. There is no meaning. Nothing carries any weight because everything is the same. There are no feelings behind the greyness. It just is. This leaves me feeling like an outsider. Life is going on around me - flourishing - and I'm on the sidelines, unable to participate, because I can't see the colors. I'm a spectator and nothing more. Sure, I go through the motions and put on the mask. I pretend I can see the colors because that is what's expected. But it's just that grey . . .

Every once in awhile, the grey recedes a little and some colors snake through around the edges. Every once in awhile those colors manage to cloud over the grey and I can see. I can actually see. The meaning breaks through. The passion and purpose breaks through and I can actively participate in life.

But the grey always wins out. It rushes back in, stamping out the color and asserting itself once more. I'm left with the memory that life should mean something . . . but I can no longer feel it.

My breakthroughs don't last all that long. 5-10 minutes? Maybe, if I'm lucky, an hour. I may have no breakthroughs on a particular day. Sometimes I'll have several.

But I'm always left seeing the grey.

How I'm Feeling

I'm back at that place of no feelings. Nothing. Flat. I try, but I fail. I keep feeling like I need to cry but I can't. I just . . . can't. There's not enough emotion behind it. There's just nothing.

And that's frustrating.

Honestly, this is just as bad as the raw depressive, suicidal, tidal wave of emotion. It's just bad in a different way.

Have I posted this before?

I might have. I'm not sure. 

But this. Seriously. This is so accurate to how I'm feeling. 

I keep thinking, well, I'm not cycling madly, so am I stable? Is this what stability looks like? This . . . nothing? If this is how I am stable I don't like it. I want to feel things. Other than irritability (I can still feel that). 

Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe expecting to have some semblance of "normal" feelings is asking too much. Maybe that's just not in the cards for me.

I hate this. I hate it so much. It's stupid and it's not fair. Existing and living are not the same. All I'm doing is existing right now. At least when I'm an emotional whirlwind there's some sense of living . . . Not now. Not at all. 

Fuck. Everything.

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?

Here we go again . . .

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

You'll notice my use of the word was.

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

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

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

But alas, no Brintellix for me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I want to be me.

A Strange Kind of Confusion

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

And overthinking things.

Here's my conundrum:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weird day so far . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Apathy and Anhedonia are my Friends

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why is everything so hard?

Seriously. Why?

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.

Existing and living are not the same

I'm having an existential crisis and it is not fun.

I don't know who I am anymore. I'm stable but that's it. I can say that I'm a wife, mother, RN, artist and a myriad of other things but I don't know who I am.

The last 2 years of my life have been chaos. I've been either hypomanic, depressed or mixed. I've had no reprieve. I've been in crisis mode for two years.

And now I'm stuck in this limbo of trying to figure out who I am, really. I don't remember who I was before this - I have no idea. I can't picture myself before the chaos started.

I'm not happy. I'm not depressed, but I'm not happy. Everything seems pointless and stupid and I don't know why I bother trying. It's like I have this hole in me that I can't fill. There are instances, moments where I feel joy. Being with the horses at the riding center is a huge one - I feel happy there, I feel content. Sometimes with my son and hubby I can feel happiness. These moments, however, are fleeting. I enjoy them when I can, but when they pass I'm empty again.

Part of me truly wants the chaos to return - because at least I know who I am during these times. I know how to act and what to do. It's familiar. Even though when in crisis all I wish for and want is for it to end, to find stability.

I hate how I feel right now. I hate who I am right now. Things still overwhelm me at times. Things exhaust me like they never used to.

I'm lost hopelessly down the rabbit hole and I don't know which way is up.

A rant, of sorts

This post is a bit of a vent post, so bare with me. (which means it might not be terribly eloquent)

I had a taste of happiness, of normalcy. A taste of what I could be if I can get stable. I taste of how I want to be.

This was on Saturday. I went into work extra to help out because we were short staffed. Now, the way my mood has been, I figured I was going to have a bad day (I was working 07-1300 - a half shift). My day was the opposite. I was awake (thanks, in part, to some very mild hypomania). I was alert and optimistic. I was upbeat. I was happy. Genuinely happy. I felt content and at peace and stable. Little setbacks didn't bother me. Minor annoyances were just that - minor annoyances. I felt like myself.

I felt like myself.

And that was big. I didn't feel hypomanic. Like I said, I think I had a little going on because I felt awake (the Latuda has made me horribly fatigued). But this was big. And I noticed that I actually wasn't waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. I was truly enjoying myself. I was in the moment and I was happy.

And it didn't last.

When I got home the mixed mania started to settle in. Irritability and anger. The fatigue came back. I laid down and tried to take a nap but my mind was racing and wouldn't be stopped. So I painted, but became angry at my painting - it didn't turn out how I had hoped (instead of deer in a winter scene it was more of an early spring scene). My irritability sky rocketed. I started building up explosive kinetic energy and resentment and hatred for everything around me - the table, the kitchen, my feet . . . you name it, it pissed me off. Irrational anger. I exploded at my hubby, I was short, bitchy, and volatile.

I had to leave.

And I did. I decided I was going to go pick up Taco Bell for dinner so I could get out of the house. I needed to get out of the house. I decided that I was going to take the long was there so I could have more time to just drive. Drive and listen to blaring music and smoke my electronic cigarette (I don't actually smoke - I have it for stress, though I've been using it more and more lately . . .).

And I drove, and I pulled into the parking lot of a local grocery store. Because I was sobbing. Uncontrollably. The ugly cry. And I couldn't stop. For almost 20 minutes, I couldn't stop crying. You would have thought someone died listening to the wails and pain filled moans coming from me. I pounded the steering wheel and pulled my hair. I tried to curl up in a ball (which is ineffective sitting in the driver's seat). I felt full of anguish and despair and hopelessness and sadness. I wanted to die. I didn't want to continue on having to feel this pain. It was too much.

I thought of my hubby and son, tried to hold onto their image which made the crying worse. In my mind I was making their lives miserable. I was so unpredictable and unloving and bitchy all the time. I was selfish and uncaring. They truly may be better off without me . . .

I stopped that thought though. My son needs his mom. My hubby needs me (God knows why . . .). And I couldn't put them through that. So I did what I could to stop sobbing, to clean myself up (I still had Taco Bell to go to dammit). And I felt horrible. I had gone from feeling so good to being on the brink of self destruction.

That's what bipolar disorder does, people. And this is not getting better. Even on a day that was going so perfectly, where I felt there was hope, it takes over and brings me crashing down. And even on a day, like yesterday, where I don't completely break down into a sobbing mess, I live in this no man's land of not feeling anything. I'm flat and mildly depressed. I could care less about anything. Nothing matters and I'm on the verge of tears, they just never come. (now, yesterday I actually did have true hypomania that I had to reign in because I was getting out of hand).

And this is how it's been. It seems the Latuda has knocked down the full blown mania. But what I'm left with is the mixed mania and horrific depressive downturns. Those two are what I cycle through.

This is all very tiring. I'm so close to giving up. I can't take this much longer, it's too much. I've struggled for so long - every day is a struggle. Every day is a fight against my moods, my brain, the unknown. It takes so much energy - energy the Latuda has now zapped.

Now, people tell me to hold on to the "good" moments. The moments like Saturday morning where I'm happy. To remember those moments when I'm down or cycling. Do you know how little that helps? How very little that actually helps? Let's say you broke your arm. You're in the middle of insane intense pain from your broken arm. The bone is sticking out and you're bleeding and close to blacking out from the pain. You're fine - just remember how it felt when it wasn't broken and you'll feel better. Did that help? Did it take away the pain of your broken arm?

No. It didn't.

And remembering feeling good doesn't take away the intense pain or anger when I'm cycling. It makes it worse because I've failed because I'm not there. I'm not better.

I don't want to sound fatalistic, but I can't do this much longer. I'm too tired. I'm getting too apathetic. I'm not getting better and I'm not going to get better. This is it. And I'm having a much more difficult time coping with it. Because it's too much and it's gone on for too long. I'm getting to the point where I just don't care anymore, and that's a scary place to be.

And so the REALLY annoying thing is . . .

. . . I want to see how sick I can get. How fucked up can I truly get?

Now, let me start by saying that this is not entirely true. I want to be better. I want to not have to deal with these constant mood swings. I want to feel normal.

Except that I don't.

This isn't some weird attention seeking thing going on here - let's get that straight. This is something, I think,  that almost every person with a chronic illness feels at some point. You've been through med change after med change after med change. You still feel like crap. Nothing you do seems to work. Everything starts to seem hopeless and pointless. Nothing has worked, so nothing will work.

It's frustrating. It's overwhelming. And it seems so much easier just to give up. Let the illness take you.

That's where I'm at. I've just made yet another med change - dropping Zyprexa and starting Latuda - hoping that this time it will work. That my mixed episode will finally end with minimal side effects from the meds. That for once, maybe, I'll feel okay.

I'll be honest - I'm not optimistic. I've been through this. Several times over the last 2 years (I've probably changed up my meds 10 times or so). I'm so fucked up, in fact, that my diagnosis has been changed from Bipolar 2 to Bipolar 1, ultra rapid cycling. I'm so fucked up, in fact, that my pdoc is trying to get me in to see the mood disorder specialists at Mass General in Boston. I'm so fucked up, in fact, my pdoc said that if I stopped my meds I would go psychotic - I would completely lose my shit.

And you know what? So be it. Let me completely lose my shit. Let me see how sick I can get. Am I really that fucked up? Am I really that sick?

Let's find out. Let's not take anything. Let's see what happens. Let the world sort it out for me.

But I can't do that. Because I don't want to do that. I have a family, a career. I have friends and obligations and hopes and dreams. And I don't want to do that. I want to get better.

I'm frustrated. I'm tired. I've exhausted my resources. I've done everything I'm supposed to do to get better. And still I struggle. Every day.

Every. Fucking. Day.

My friends are worried about me. Very worried, it seems. They see me from the outside. They see the swings, more so than I can I think.  I downplay this all. I wonder if I downplay it too much. I wonder if I'm already sicker than I think.

I worry, but I also don't care. What can I do about it anyway?

Nothing. That's what.

I'm having a hard time mustering up any feelings today. I'm flat but near tears. And that's it. My mood could change at any minute - and I don't know until it happens.

I don't even know how to explain how I feel - the turmoil and confusion and hopelessness and despair. The sadness. Breaking down sobbing for no reason but not being able to stop. And the pain in that - the emptiness and grief and pain that threatens to swallow you whole. So much so you want to die. In that instant you want to die.

But then the giddiness and excitement and outright joy. Feeling like I can take on the world and that I'm funnier and smarter and better than everyone. That I need to spend money and write and draw and paint and clean the house and run a marathon and do all these things right now and all at once! And they have to be done why don't you understand???

And the irritability. Oh the irritability. And anger and impatience. And this built up kinetic energy and hostility and the need to destroy something. Anything. Even if it means hurting myself severely. Snapping at my husband and son for the mere fact that they exist.

And I might cycle through these feelings ten times a day - or not much at all. They may be the extreme - the worst it could possibly be. Or it may be milder, a little easier to deal with. And the cycles come without warning, at the drop of a hat. One minute I'm okay and, literally, the next minute I'm not.

Does that make sense? Can you even fathom how difficult that is? To live every fucking day like that? To have it affect your family and your job? Your own sanity?

Can you understand why I want to give up? Why I want to throw in the towel and lose my shit? When nothing I do works? Does it make any sense at all?

I can't adequately convey what I'm feeling. I want to give up. I want to completely lose my shit.

But I want to get better. And I have to. So I guess I struggle the fuck on.

Where am I now?

Revolution from dissolution, hypnotizing and demoralizing
Pressure of the future, too much for today
How many hours will I let slip away
Before I realize existing and living
Are not the same
Are not the same
      -MSMR

I'm not exactly sure where I am right now. Many places, I guess. I'm stuck, I know that much. Stuck and annoyed and frustrated. Frustrated because I'm coming back to square one.

Last Wednesday marked two weeks of being on the Zyprexa. Two weeks of subdued, controlled mania. Two weeks of "stability".

Two weeks of steady cognitive decline.

Yep. Cognitive decline. Noticeable cognitive decline. It started innocent enough. Shortened attention span, being a little more easily distracted. Nothing big, nothing to write home about.

But then it became insidious, permeating everything I do. My focus was gone. I couldn't concentrate. I was very easily distracted. Everything changed.

On Monday, at work, I was going over discharge instructions with a patient - something I have done literally thousands of times. I stopped mid sentence. I had no clue what I had just said. Or what I was doing. Or what I needed to do. Luckily I'm awesome and I recovered and carried on, the patients none the wiser of my folly.

But that's not like me.

And then it happened again. And my mind would wander off as I was speaking and then I would stop, a bit confused. I couldn't focus on my charting. If there were distractions I was done. I'd have to check over everything I had just entered.

I felt overwhelmed more easily. Things that would have never flustered me were now an issue.

This past week, my first week back at work, was difficult. Because of the above. What's wrong with me?

I noticed my typing changing. I leave letters out of words or switch them around. Those damn red squiggly lines that spell check loves? Almost every word. I have to go back an recheck everything. And now? Now I leave motherfucking WORDS out of sentences.

WORDS people. Who the fuck forgets to write words? While thinking they're there? Me. That's who *points to self*.

I can't work like this. I can't. So I made a decision: no more Zyprexa. Wednesday night was the first night I didn't take it. Thursday morning my cognition was a little better. But I happened to tell two friends who made me take the one I had in my purse for "breakthrough" mania. And I was worse in the afternoon.

So Thursday night and last night I didn't take it. I'm focusing a little better, my typing is a little better.

But my mood? My mood is now not better. It would seem I'm going back to being in a mixed episode. Yesterday at work I started the day hypomanic. Then I got irritable. Then I spent almost 20 minutes in the back room sobbing, crying the ugly cry, while filled with crippling despair and hopelessness. I was depressed for awhile, then down, then irritable, then hypomanic.

Today I've been cycling between feeling down and being irritable. Right now, as I write this, I want to hide. I want to be alone, in bed, under the covers, crying. It's what I want to do so badly but I can't. J and A are here and we're going to decorate our tree soon. It should be a happy time. It should be fun and I just want to hide away and not exist and not deal with the shit anymore.

This is so frustrating, you have no idea. I can take the Zyprexa and be stable mood wise but lose essential cognitive functioning (not to mention the insanely increased appetite and sudden appearance of about 5000 pimples). Or I can not take it and have my brain power but be mixed and unstable again.

Why the FUCK can't I just be okay??? Just okay. That's all I want. Just to be stable and okay. But I can't. I can't have that. I can't just be okay.

Why can't I just be okay? Please. . . 

I'm scared about what's going on, about these two choices I have in front of me. My choice, for now, is to not take the Zyprexa. I'm done with it. I can't do it. But this starts, again, the search for a different med to replace it, lest I want the mixed episode to worsen.

I'm not okay with either of these choices. I'm not okay with any of this. I'm not okay . . .

Please . . .

Tuesday morning

It's Tuesday morning. In case you couldn't figure that out on your own. You're welcome.

It's about 0920 right now and I have therapy in an hour. I both need therapy today but I'm also anxious about it. My mind is racing a bit at the moment and I feel shaky and fidgety. I woke up feeling okay. Not great, not bad . . . just okay. Which is fine. Then I started to feel a little down. Then I almost burst into tears for no good reason.

As I type this, I feel like I could burst into tear right now. For no reason. I'm slightly down. Not depressed, no feelings of despair or hopelessness. Just a little down. But I feel like I could cry and my mind is going 500 directions at once. I can't even quite figure out what to write or how to word it and thank GOD for spell check.

I'm nervous. My last post was written on Sunday morning. When I was a little hypo but otherwise okay. Sunday afternoon and evening were a different story. We went and saw Thor 2 (which gave me Loki feels and is a good movie, btw) and then went grocery shopping. Within minutes of leaving the theater, I crashed. Hard.

Scary hard.

I tried not to show it and I failed. Miserably. J told me to stop dwelling on whatever it was I was dwelling on. He was trying to be helpful. It only made me bitchier. Because I wasn't dwelling on anything. I literally had no discernible thought in my head. Nothing. Only feeling. And what I was feeling was horrible. Despair, hopelessness, worthlessness, pain, emptiness, hate, profound sadness, and the thought that I really shouldn't go on. That I couldn't do this again. I wanted to not exist.

And that terrified me. So much so I was contemplating admitting myself to the hospital.

But I don't want to do that. I really don't. So I tried to be better. I talked, I tried engaging, I did everything I could to fake it to bring myself up. J started assaulting me (in a good way, y'all. Playfully pushing me, holding me, acting like a loon). My mood only lifted slightly.

I painted when we got home while J worked on the yard. Still yucky. Had dinner. Still yucky. Ever so slightly better, but still yucky.

And then *poof*, I felt okay. *Poof*.  The fog lifted and I was okay. And I joked a little. And I laid on the couch with J to watch the Bronco game. And I was relieved and exhausted. I couldn't make it through the whole game because I was so emotionally exhausted.

Of course, I couldn't sleep either. Tried reading a bit. Didn't help. So I laid in bed with my racing thoughts focused on nothing.

Well, it's 0950 now. Thirty minutes to right just a tiny bit because my brain is so scattered. Off to the bathroom, and then therapy.

Had a breakdown today

Yesterday at work was a roller coaster. All morning I was down, near tears over everything. I tried to scan something to pharmacy - it wouldn't go through. My eyes welled up, my lip quivered, I had to go hide. I didn't cry - not all day, not once. But I needed to.

Around 3pm, hello hypo mania!!! Uncontrolled, unrelenting hypo mania. It was bad. I was loud, I was inappropriate, I had to be the center of attention. Now, keep in mind that I'm an RN. On the L&D unit. Delivering babies. And I was anything but professional. One of the physicians, whom, luckily, I can really joke with, got a kick out of my behavior. He escalated me. There was a paramedic student. I inquired as to whether or not he watched midget porn.

Midget porn, people. Who does that?? Me, apparently.

So I went from depressed and in tears to oh-my-god-look-at-me-I'm-amazing-and-there's-a-butterfly-and-oh-yeah-porn-and-shit. Not great when entering patient's rooms to catch a baby.

But I made it through and I laughed about how crazy I was. And then today happened. This morning happened. I had to go to a leadership class called LEAP - because I'm a charge nurse and my manager thinks I make a "good leader" (who's the crazy one now!!). The class is at our main hospital downtown. Driving there . . . the depression was starting to creep in. I cranked up the music and sang along and reminded myself that I got to play with horses and disabled kids this afternoon (I volunteer at a therapeutic riding center).

But then I parked. And I lost it. I sobbed uncontrollably. The "ugly cry". The one where you get snot all over the bloody place and your mascara runs making you look like a rabid raccoon. Yeah. That one. And it was seemingly for no reason. It came out of nowhere - la la la, this song is cool - NO! SCREW YOU! LET'S CRY!! It was full of pain and despair and darkness and hopelessness.

And I don't know why.

I've been wondering if I'm starting to rapid cycle. I don't know. I have no idea. I don't want to tell my hubby or friends because I don't want them to think I'm self-sabotaging. That I'm perpetuating something that's not there. Yes, I've done that in the past. I've admitted it. I've been working on stopping that cycle and adopting better coping mechanisms. And I've been succeeding in doing that. I was getting better.

And then this. And I'm trying not to catastrophize this. Because yes, I've been feeling more and more out of sorts the last few weeks. And yes, yesterday and today were exceedingly bad mood wise, but that doesn't mean tomorrow will be that way too.

Right?

Getting real tired of your shit, brain.

I've been overall very melancholy lately. And I'm not gonna lie - I'm getting sick of it. I can't seem to shake it. Constantly, it's there. Even if I have a good moment, it's there to welcome me back with open arms.

I think I'm stable. I feel stable. I'm not really rapid cycling. I have ups and downs, and they're a little more extreme than "normal" mood fluctuations, but I feel stable.

But it's this overall melancholy sadness that never seems to leave. I'm trying to figure out what it is. Is it just feeling a little down? Maybe a result of still getting stable, coupled with icky therapy sessions and yucky introspective learning? Is it that this is a "normal" state and I'm so used to being in an extreme mood state that this just doesn't work and I don't know how to cope? Both? Something else?

Thing is, I almost feel like I can't cope with this. I'm actually doing well at being "in the moment", at being present. So that, at times, I'm enjoying myself. And if I have a time where I need to cry, I cry. And I do this, and I stay in the moment and experience it, and I move on. And what I move on to is to this non-feeling, melancholy trance where I barely feel there. Where I'm distracted and disengaged and conversation is forced.

I stay like that until another period of heightened emotion. And that's just it - it has to be heightened. And even then, at least to the positive, it still seems forced. There's genuine emotion there, there is, but I have to force it a little. It feels faked. It feels dulled down.

Maybe this is what other people feel? How they experience things? I have no idea. And if so, what the fuck?

If I look back over the last 2 weeks, since my last therapy session, I would say that it was alright. It was okay. There was nothing too major either way. I would also say that I wasn't happy. That I made it through another 2 weeks. That I have little moments here and there that I enjoyed and was present for and even laughed through. But that overall? I wasn't happy.

When I look back over the last 2 weeks, the last 4 weeks, the last 8 weeks . . . that's what I see - me not really happy. Me existing, enjoying snippets here and there. Feeling worse here and there. But numb. Numb and there and existing. Nothing sways me that much. Nothing excites me that much. I say it does, but it doesn't. I'm still putting up that facade of being all better.

And I am better. I'm stable. I'm not suicidal and out of control. That's better. But I'm not living either. Not like I think I should be. Not with my feelings and senses stunted. Not with being in this melancholy trance. Not with my creativity all but missing.

It's down to this - I don't like how I feel. I'm living moment to moment, day to day. I'm not catastrophizing. I'm, surprisingly, not thinking too much in the future mood wise.  And this is what I get - melancholy and numb and not happy.

I don't like who I am, who I've become. And I'm not sure I can change that.

And that saddens me.

Kinda confused . . .

So, I'm annoyed. Which, let's be honest, has been a staple emotion for me lately. Among others. But this whole "positive-fake-it-till-you-make-it-stay-in-the-moment" shit is wearing me out.

Here's my problem:

I'm supposed to stay in the moment, right? Mindfulness? This is what I've been learning with Chance and have been really trying to practice. Not worrying about the future or past. Not dwelling on things. And really working on changing my manner of thinking.

Well, that's all well and good, except when my mood is down. When there's that hint of depression sinking in. Because alright, I'm down, I'm in the moment, I'm experiencing it, acknowledging it, not over thinking it and then move on. But my mood is still down. So I'm in the moment, experiencing, acknowledging, not over thinking and I move on. But my mood is still down. I'm sure you can see where this is going.

So I'm down, and I'm in the moment, so let's be positive! Let's think positive! Let's join a conversation, get up and move, write down things to be thankful for! But my mood is still down. Now, I'm supposed to be in the moment and experiencing my emotions as they're happening. So I'm doing good in that regard. Yep, I'm down. I get it. But I can't let myself stay down. Because that can start the downward spiral I'm desperately trying to avoid. And how long is too long to "stay in the moment" of that down mood? When should I worry?

You know what happens next? I get frustrated. Because I don't know the answer. So I try and stay in the moment and do positive things to get away from that down mood. Occasionally, that's worked. The past almost week and a half, it hasn't. So now I'm down, and frustrated, and I'm trying to stay in the moment while trying to change the moment and that's tiring. And confusing. And I beat myself up over it because I'm probably making this too hard and I can't seem to figure it out.

I know I'm more depressive by nature. I know this. I'm trying to change this. But this has been so GOD DAMNED HARD it's not even funny. Another frustrating thing? I feel like I'm overall doing better. That I've made strides. That slowly (very slowly) I'm getting there.

But J doesn't see that. He says that at times I'm a little more talkative. That's it. Which, me being me, I take as maybe I'm not doing as well as I thought. Which is a toxic thought. I try and ignore that, but it likes to fester in the back of my mind.

I guess I just hate that I seem to be going in circles like a hamster on its wheel, accomplishing nothing. I have to break this cycle and, quite frankly, I have no idea how.

I also think I'm in a mixed episode. That doesn't help.

Today is supposed to be different

I'm here at work and it's loud and annoying and I don't even know what my mood is doing today. Everyone here (the labor nurses) is talking about the stupid Obama Care and I kinda want to stab them all. Shut up. Just . . . shut up. Seriously. 

I'm everywhere bad today. I'm down, I'm frustrated, I'm annoyed and cranky and I feel like I'm going to lose it. I'm trying, really trying to fake it till I make it. I'm really trying to stay positive and ignore my feelings and surroundings. Today, it's hard. Today is a day I would spiral, a day that I could spiral. I'm trying not to. 

Which is why I'm writing right now. There are a few things I'm frustrated with at the moment but I can't even concentrate. I want to hide. I want to go home and sleep. Last week was shitty - this week isn't supposed to be. I'm trying. I will make it a good day. God willing.

Rats

Oh God. I feel so horrible right now. So utterly lost and empty. I'm floating in a no-man's land of nothingness filled with poison and self-hatred and despair.

It's a purgatory of sorts, though I am the sole resident. There's no light, no windows, no doors. Every once in awhile I hear a soft chattering, a rustle of tiny claws, as the rats of hell and depression scutter by, stealing pieces of me. They're trying to take them all, those rats, until there's nothing left. I think they've almost succeeded.

I'm writing this at work. I wish I could hide right now. I wish I could disappear. I wish I could crawl inside myself and tear those rats out. Those goddamn rats . . .

So much could be causing this. The bipolar, the med changes, the overdose, hormones, who the fuck really knows . . . It's probably all of that. And maybe more. But this feeling of being in limbo, not really feeling, a little dazed, withdrawn, confused . . . I just. . . I don't know.

The only thing I do know is that the rats are tenacious. And hungry. I feel their eyes on me. Dull and glazed over, they pierce my every defense. Fighting these rats has become my existence. It's exhausting, going through each day struggling, trying to distract yourself long enough to go to bed, only to start it over the next day.

And still I push on, in spite of them. It might be easier to let them take me . . . but that's not an option. So I fight these rats. I bait them and distract them and remember who I'm fighting for. These rats, full of their plagues and lies, can't win.

So I push on and I fight, even when the soft squeaks sound alluring.