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.

It's been awhile

So yeah. It's been awhile since my last post and quite a bit has happened. Let's see, last post was about depression coming back.

And that is still the case I'm afraid. But I also have this really awesome thing called anxiety. And it's been bad. I have panic attacks when I try and sleep. At first it was just with trying to nap. Then it started with going to bed at night. Racing heart, feeling of impending doom, shakiness, panic. It happens at random times throughout the day too. Sometimes it's constant throughout the day.

Hell, I'm almost in a full panic attack right now, writing this.

I've had irritability and insomnia - to the point where I've been taking klonopin to sleep.

I have all the symptoms of a mixed episode starting. At first I was thinking it might be caused by Deplin - a folic acid supplement that my psych doc put me on. I found one site that listed insomnia, irritability and anxiety as side effects. But I looked it up on my work's fancy info site and it seems that this is not the case (at least for 99% of people - who knows, maybe I'm that 1%). It can cause acne though - which has gotten horrifically bad. So I stopped taking the Deplin, just in case.

The anxiety and irritability continues (the insomnia has gotten better, thank God).

I've had some other issues (that I won't discuss here) which has led to my psych doc having me increase my geodon back up to 80mg - which I really do not want to do (last night was my first increased dose and I certainly feel the effects today - namely fatigue and grogginess). He's also considering starting me on Depakote, which we'll discuss when I see him on Monday (I have strong reservations about going on this drug because of the side effects). He's also started the process of trying to get me seen by the mood experts at Mass General in Boston. I want to go so badly but I'm not terribly hopeful that it will happen.

I've taken to rating my mood on a scale from 1-10, and most days it's around a 3. I'd like it around a 6. I've had some 2's, and I've had a few 4's as well. But, still pretty low. And did I mention anxiety? And irritability? Oh I have? Okay.

What else . . . I was in on a code on a baby and the baby died. This was my first infant death (though I've coded many babies). I took it pretty hard - harder than I thought I would. So hard, even, that my brain went into overdrive giving me full blown depression with suicidal ideation for a day. And then - poof - gone. My brain does not handle stress well at all apparently.

Speaking of stress, I still get overwhelmed at work. I'm keeping my shit together just fine, I just feel overwhelmed and exhausted after working. And during working. Especially since almost every day I've worked we've done 8-10 deliveries. So crazy busy. But I'm handling it better than I was even a month ago, which makes me feel hopeful that at some point I'll be able to go back to full time. Probably not anytime soon, but at some point (I still have a hard time handling two days a week - let alone 3 right now). But I'll get there.

And lastly, my son has been having some anxiety issues of his own - mostly about something happening to my hubby or I (or his uncle). This has been going on for weeks. A few days ago he asked me tons of questions about my bipolar (not that he called it that - he's 7). Wanting to know why I act the way I do, why do I get angry or cry for no reason, why am I sad, why doesn't my brain work right, why do I have to take so many pills, will I always be like this. That kinda stuff. And he made a request that actually kinda hurt - he asked to see a therapist. He wants to "talk to someone about this like you do". It broke my heart a little because I know that quite a bit of his anxiety is cause by my instability. But I'll find a child therapist for him so he can talk - as much as he needs to. Maybe it's only one session. Maybe it's several. I don't know.

Alright. I've written enough for now. A brief overview of what the hell has been going on.

Holy Shit Y'all

Let me catch you up to speed.

I saw Dr. C on Wednesday about my looming depression. I was thinking that I just need to suck it up and deal with it. He says, no, I don't. I don't need to feel the way I've been feeling.

So we're starting me on Wellbutrin, which I was on before and it was starting to help with the depression in September (then I went all mixed and manic and we had to stop it). We're also increasing the dose of my Lamictal.

I asked him about stopping the Geodon. When I was started on an antipsychotic, he said it was only temporary to get me through the mixed episode. I told him I'd like to try going off of it as I'm pretty sick of not having orgasms. No desire, no arousal, no orgasm. It sucks. He said it was fine, but to drop from 80mg a night to 40mg for a week and then stop it after that.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

So, being given the go ahead to wean off the Geodon, I found myself terrified. Because I don't know how my body will react to this. I may go straight into another mixed or manic episode. It may be worse. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe I'll explode. I don't know.

But there's only one way to find out, right?

Last night was my first night at the decrease dose of 40mg. I didn't sleep well. But I woke up feeling wide awake and energized. And then antsy. And anxious. And impatient. And my mind was racing. And I mean racing. So fucking fast.

I went to go muck stalls and I felt less anxious. But my mind was going and going and would get fixated on a phrase or song lyric and replay it over and over and I couldn't stop it. Or I'd manage to stop it but some other phrase or song lyric would get stuck and I couldn't focus or concentrate and I was flustered and annoyed.

After mucking, exhaustion hit (I worked yesterday and it was stupid fucking busy - so this, with lack of sleep . . .). But I was still anxious and antsy and my mind was still going. I went to the store and the post office and stopped briefly at a friend's house. While I was at L's house I could hardly concentrate on anything she was saying because my mind wouldn't SHUT THE FUCK UP.

And now I'm home and I'm exhausted and I have this really awesome IRRATIONAL RAGE and I'm even pissed off at air. Mother. Fucking. Air. My mind is still racing. I'm typing this so fast trying to keep up with it and I'm making so many typos that I have to go back and fix which just fuels my rage but I can't stop typing fast because I can hardly form a rational thought.

It's song lyrics right now. "Don't assume, that I need your love". After the Disco by Broken Bells. Over and over and over and I love the song but Clancy what the fuck are you kidding me right now???

I'm hoping this is just rebound from lowering the dose and that once my body adjusts I'll be good and this shit will stop. Because if this continues, God help us all. I probably will explode. Which would be a huge horrible mess that hubby will end up having to clean and then he'll resent me forever for it but I'll be dead so I won't really care.

Run on sentences FTW.

Somebody fucking shoot me.

Fuck you, self

I'm sitting here very restless but very apathetic. There is a torrent of thoughts racing through my mind, none of them good. I hate this feeling. This feeling of needing to do something, anything, but having no idea what to do. But of also not caring enough to even try. Of knowing that everything you do is pointless so there's no sense in doing anything.

I have still been down. I have still felt empty and lost and confused. I have still been horribly withdrawn and, early this morning, I was unaware of this fact. I felt somewhat okay this morning. Sure, maybe I was a little down. Maybe I was feeling a little empty, even a little irritated, but I was okay, right?

Until my best friend, L, came over. Then, I realized, just how not okay I was. I was acutely aware of how down I was feeling. I was acutely aware of how withdrawn I still am (she even made mention of it). Truth be told, I didn't want to talk, I didn't want her company, I didn't want anything except to disappear.

But I couldn't disappear. I couldn't even go on a drive and smoke. See, my son is home sick from school. Can't really take him around with me on a self destructive spree.

So I painted/drew with him and then read while he played games on his kindle.

And I had bad thoughts.

I thought about taking pills. I needed to escape what I was feeling and taking pills seemed like a viable option. But everything I have will sedate me. Which is fine if it only did that for a few hours but the last time I tried it I was in and out of consciousness for a day and a half. I need uppers. I have no uppers. I need percocet so I can feel high. I have no percocet.

So then I thought about alcohol. But the problem with that is drinking with my meds. I can't even take a fucking Benadryl with my meds without being so knocked out the next morning that I can't function. I have therapy in the morning! I have to be functional!

I thought about stopping all of my meds. So that I can maybe be manic. Get the high of mania - the euphoria, energy, on top of the world feeling coupled with invincibility. But that would prove highly destructive.

I'm considering anorexia. I'm not even fucking joking. A slow form of self harm that, hey - will maybe make me look good! Weight loss isn't all bad!

I want to destroy things but I don't have the energy. I want to punch but in order to be satisfied I need to hurt myself.

And I think about all of these things, these self destructive things, and I can't help but wonder if this is all just me trying to self sabotage. I'm trying to make my situation worse. Bring about crisis. Because we all know that I don't seem to function without some form of motherfucking crisis.

I know this. And I'm doing everything to try and counter this thinking. It's not healthy. I'm not healthy. But no matter how hard I try and counter, it doesn't change the fact that the feelings are there. That the thoughts are there. They're FUCKING THERE and nothing I do seems to work!

What the hell am I supposed to do? I see what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. It's there, right in front of me. And still it happens. And I try, and right now I seem to be failing. I'm too much for myself. I can't counter my own sick mind and I'm going to make things worse.

What. The fuck. Do I do?

I'm tired.

It's a bit stupid how tired I am. I worked two days in a row. Wednesday and Thursday.

And I'm exhausted.

Wednesday was slow, not too much going on. I had patients on the floor and did one delivery. Thursday was busier and my coworker and I did 8 deliveries. Both days I was drained and at times it showed. Both days I was alternately okay and withdrawn. Talking to coworkers proved too much to handle at times. I was okay with patients, thank God for small favors.

But two days in a row is apparently too much for me. I used to be able to work two or even three days in a row without any issues whatsoever. But not now. Now it's too much.

This morning I went to the riding center to muck stalls and that was actually a stupid move. It exhausted me further. I was tired this morning, drained and groggy. But I had perked up a little after taking my son to school so I decided fuck it - why not? So I went. And I made it 2 hours, surprisingly. I don't know how I did because I was so tired I thought I'd pass out. I think I made it out of sheer stupid stubbornness.

Mucking stalls is therapeutic for me, which is why I went. But I kinda wish I hadn't. I still haven't recovered. I'm drained and tired and exhausted. But I can't fall asleep to take a nap. Which is dumb.

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.

Why am I so tired?

Seriously? My friend stopped by to hang out and chat for a little while and it was exhausting. I love hanging out with her. I love talking with her. She's my best friend. But after about 45 minutes I was ready for her to go. Not because I didn't want her company - but because I was getting exhausted. I felt overwhelmed just talking with her.

What. The actual. Fuck.

This is stupid. It's so damn stupid. Talking to a friend should not be exhausting.

But it was.

I really hate me right now.

I'm weird.

It's true. I'm weird. And I'm okay with that, really. Actually, it's a source of pride for me, a badge of honor.

Except for this weird. This weird is not what I'm proud of.

Here's what this weird is:

I've been pretty darn stable for a few weeks now. My moods have been more even, less extreme, more predictable. I'm starting to "feel like myself" again, whatever that is. And this is, quite frankly, boring me.

Being stable is boring.

What the fuck? Seriously? Yes. It's boring. There's a part of me that misses the raw emotion of my mood swings. The chaos, the crisis, the constant state of flux. There's a part of me that yearns for it and wants to sabotage my progress to bring this all back. To make me unstable again.

I hate this part of me. I want to crush it and hide it away. I want to cover it in denial and pretend it doesn't exist. But that does me no good. Hiding it and denying it will only make it stronger.

Instead, I'm accepting it. I'm acknowledging it. I'm talking about it and writing about it in hopes to understand it. Because I actually don't want to get sick again.

Today has been a pretty low day for me (in comparison to how I've been feeling the last few weeks). That weird, horrible part of me should be embracing this. Feeding it with lies to worsen the depression. And you know what I've found? I'm not letting that happen. I'm fighting it because I hate feeling like this. I don't want to be depressed again and so I'm fighting with everything I've got. And that leaves me exhausted, confused and feeling a little lost. I'm so used to spiraling that when I don't, I don't know what to do with myself. That weird part feels lost and empty.

It's very disconcerting to feel this way. To know that you truly want to be well, and that you deserve to be well, but feel empty and hollow when you do.

Hubby says it will take time for me to get used to feeling stable and I'm sure he's right. I've been in a constant state of crisis for over 2 years and it's all that I know anymore. I don't remember how I felt before all of this - I can't even fathom it.

Hopefully that emptiness will subside and I can truly just . . . be.

Back to Work

Going back to work in the morning, 1st day back in over 5 weeks. I'm a bit nervous about it. Well, about certain aspects of it.

I don't want to answer questions. People, naturally, will ask questions. And I don't want to answer. I don't want to deal with it at all. There are people who I'll talk to, tell them what happened, but they are few and far between. I just don't want to deal with it.

I'm worried I'll get overwhelmed. That I'll need to go off by myself several times to "reboot". Which will probably lead to questions.

I'm worried about akathisia coming on while I'm at work. If it does, I'll have to take meds which could make me drowsy. If I don't take meds, there will be questions (constant movement, walking, antsy, anxious is hard to hide).

I'm worried about my concentration and focus. I notice deficits at home so I wonder what they'll be like at work.

I'm worried about how drained and exhausted I'll be during and after my shift. Hanging with friends completely exhausts me so I have a feeling work will be worse . . .

We'll see how it goes, I guess. There will be a blog post on it, though not tomorrow night - I doubt I'll be up for it.


In other news, I was close to losing my shit today. Today was my son's Cub Scout rocket races. All the scouts made rockets to race down a length of fishing line. There were a lot of kids. Like, I don't know, 20? Plus parents. Lot's of people. Lot's of noise.

Too much stimulation. Apparently.

I got antsy, anxious. I was pacing, rocking back and forth from foot to foot, side to side. One of the moms (whose house we were at) asked if I had to use the bathroom.

No, thanks. Just cold.

Actually, I'm just anxious and antsy and impatient for no good reason and the feeling is growing every minute, so much so that I want to scream and run away and hide.

Thanks, though.

My son's rocket took home the ribbon for "most creative". He painted it like a "creeper" from the game Minecraft.

I hate it when I can't lie to myself . . .

I'm sitting on the couch watching the Broncos and Patriots game (going for the Broncos, btw - they're my team) and said to myself, self, you know what you should do right now? You should write.

And so I am.

I had a disturbing revelation yesterday while having lunch at a friend's house. These friends are pretty good friends, just ones that hubs and I don't see too often (they live over an hour away). We can share anything with them - we're comfortable like that. And so I shared about my last 3 months with them, as they only knew the bare basics.

This is where I had my disturbing revelation.

I was sick. Sick. Recounting my story, watching the expressions on their faces - expressions of mild shock, pity, and almost disbelief . . . It was difficult. It was eye opening. They saw the humor in my mania. They could joke about it which made me more comfortable. They asked questions. But I realized just how sick I truly was.

Talking about it takes away my ability to lie to myself about it. See, I like to tell myself that the last 3 months weren't as bad as they were. That I wasn't really that sick. When I say it out loud, all that goes away. I lose that lie. And losing that lie scares me a little.

I also realized this: I'm still sick.

We spent 5 hours at our friend's house and I left feeling emotionally and mentally exhausted. Completely drained and exhausted. Which forces me to consider the fact that I'm not recovered yet. Which scares me a little.

I was so sick I lost touch with reality - I was delusional. I was so sick I was suicidal.

And I'm not better yet. Yesterday made me realize how fragile I still am. How much my illness impacts my friends and family. And how quickly things can change.

And it makes me wonder how I'm going to do back at work. I go back the 27th. One week. If five hours with friends exhausts me, how is 12 hours at work at a busy birth center going to affect me?

I'm worried and a little bit scared.