Some Frustration

Well. It's been almost a full month since I posted anything. It's not that I haven't had anything to write about, it's just that I haven't published it.

I've been very frustrated lately. See, I'm in a low grade depression. Chock full of apathy, negative thoughts, exhaustion, and feeling like I want to die - or at least not exist - because everything seems pointless. I often don't want to be around people or interact with them. I kinda don't want to be touched at times. I often want to sleep so that I don't have to deal with how I'm feeling.

I hate this.

I was triggered 2 weeks ago by something I read in one of my Al-Anon daily readers. It was about forgiveness. And it made me realize that I haven't forgiven my mom for her drinking. And that I can't separate her from the disease of alcoholism. I can't see her for the person she is. Anytime I come close, my walls shoot up. And they're tall, thick, and covered in barbed wire.

This trigger happened on Friday the 17th. Saturday the 18th I talked about it in Al-Anon. The following Wednesday (last Wednesday) I talked about it in therapy and then with hubby that night. I started grieving the relationship that I will never have with my mom. This, I think, is the first step in forgiving her and forming some kind of relationship (I hadn't spoken to her in over 3 months).

I then called her last Saturday and we talked for 30 minutes. It went well - better than I thought - and I decided that we can talk, but only on my terms. I'll have to wait and see how this goes.

But what's frustrating is this damn depression. I'm stable for fuck's sake!!! I shouldn't have to deal with this!!

Except that this is part of having bipolar disorder.

I can be triggered and go into a mood episode. Since I'm stable, this depressive episode isn't as bad as it could be. Which I should be thankful for. And I am. But I'm still fighting against how I think I should feel being stable (which is no swings, happy all the time, cheerful, energetic, possibly slightly hypomanic - this is unrealistic, I know, but it's my ideal), and how I actually feel.

My "should" is very unrealistic. I was starting to accept that. Starting to accept that I'll have mini swings (that are more extreme than the "normal" range of emotions). Starting to accept that my mood can still change at the drop of a hat and that I will never truly know what my mood will be like at any given moment. I was starting to accept that.

But then this depression happened, and it has hung around for 2 weeks, and everything that I was starting to accept goes out the window.

So I'm frustrated. I'm reminding myself daily that this is part of bipolar disorder, that I'm still way better than I have been, and that eventually it will pass. I'm doing all of the correct, positive things that I should be doing and that I've learned how to do in therapy. I'm trying to dig myself out of this hole. And I will. I know I will. Or at least I keep telling myself that.

Ugh. Stupid depressive feels.

Booooooooooo

I'm not sure if I've posted about this particular topic before. So I'm gonna give some background info first:

You all probably know that my mom is an alcoholic. Has been one for as long as I can remember. I have vivid, negative memories of my childhood, being the caretaker often for my brother and my mom. Lots of baggage with this. I'm ACOA (adult child of an alcoholic). This brings numerous characteristics of behavior and maladapted coping (which goes along awesomely with being bipolar . . . that was sarcasm by the way). (I should also point out that she is in complete denial about her drinking. She could be pouring vodka in a cup, drink from it, and tell you that she doesn't drink. I'm not exaggerating)

I've been diagnosed with chronic PTSD because of my upbringing. My mom is a huge trigger for me (my therapist and I have been working on this intensely for the last month and a half or so). For the longest time I refused to talk to her after about 6pm. Why? Because she would most likely be drunk and I can't handle that. Talking to my mom when she's been drinking - even if she's not drunk - has a decidedly negative effect on me. Anger, frustration, helplessness, fear, guilt, and shame all flood me. I overreact emotionally, which can send me into a bipolar mood swing. That's not good.

While trying to work through all this in therapy she's become even more of a trigger for me. So that even getting a text from her (no matter what time of day) gives me all of those negative emotions and fills me with anxiety. My therapist suggested I do something drastic - cut my mom out completely. No texts, no phone calls, no emails. If I don't have to constantly battle my negative feelings, perhaps I could work more on recovery. Makes sense.

And was very inviting.

So I sent my mom an email outlining the restrictions. No contact unless I initiate it. If she wanted to know how I was doing she could enquire through my hubby (which he had said he was okay with). I explained why. I let her know that this wasn't permanent, but that I didn't know how long it would last. She sent me an email back letting me know how much this hurt her (a guilt tactic, which she had used often growing up - I have no doubt that this decision hurt her but she lays it on thick). She said she would honor my wishes.

It was going well for a couple of weeks. I was a little more relaxed. I'm dealing with a lot of guilt over this as I'm her daughter - I should be talking to her and checking up on her and being what a daughter is supposed to be (which my therapist told me I need to get over - he pointed out that I felt this way partly because I always felt that way growing up - I had an obligation to her).

And then last night happened.

She texted my hubby and let him know that she had gone to the hospital as she thought she had a blood clot (she had surgery for a broken ankle 8? 10? 12?  weeks ago and was in a cast and then a walking boot). She told him that she was home and okay and it wasn't a clot (whatever was going on was caused because she wasn't following her physician's orders and hadn't been wearing the walking boot like she was supposed to). She stated in her text that all she needed was me and that I wasn't there for her and it was bullshit (I read the text). All those icky, negative feels? They came flooding back. My sense of guilt and shame overwhelmed me. I didn't know what to do. I mean, she's my mom and I love her and I want to know that she's alright. But at the same time the thought of talking to her filled me with dread.

After much trepidation I decided to text her. Asked her how she was doing as hubby had told me about the trip to the hospital. It was a very brief exchange of texts. I told her if something major like this happened that she could contact me - I'm not heartless, I'm just trying to care for me and heal.

The exchange of texts, the feelings that flooded me . . . it was overwhelming. The hour of deliberation and texts left me completely exhausted. Literally. It was only 8pm and I was ready for bed I was so exhausted. How fucking stupid is that? And equally disturbing is that no one can really understand that.

How having to wrestle with my feelings and my mom can take everything out of me and leave me empty.

It is so. Fucking. Stupid.

I didn't tell my hubby that last night. I don't think he'd understand (sorry). And the not understanding coupled with the guilt and shame I was feeling would have really put me over the top. I was already fragile enough last night.

I fucking hate this.

Today I'm conflicted. I feel so guilty that I think I should just reinstate contact with my mom. Not because I want to - but because I feel obligated to do so. My therapist would very strongly advise against this (as does my best friend). I need to get myself healthy. I shouldn't engage with my mom until she's not such a strong trigger. I'm siding with no contact. I need time.

I just hate how shitty I feel.

The thing is . . .

. . . I really kinda feel like shit. Super irritable and depressed. There isn't a day again where I don't break down sobbing. I don't want to exist - if I could just sleep until I felt better. But the scary thing? I'm moving into the "I don't want to live stage". That's not  a good place to be. I'm so tired of feeling like crap. And thinking that this will go on for as long as I'm alive . . . well, that's daunting and depressing in and of itself.

I had therapy on Tuesday and M had me do an exercise where I pretended my mom was sitting across from me and I had to tell her what I was feeling. I kinda failed at it. I was so emotionally drained that I couldn't really do the exercise justice. I want a do over. He also gave me homework of sorts: to cut all communication with my mom. Now, she's a pretty big trigger for me and even getting a text with her fills me with anger and icky feels. M is worried about my current emotional/mental state and said that contact with her is probably too much right now.

I tend to agree. I've said for a long time it would be so much easier if she were dead. Which is a horrible thing to think - trust me, I know (though M said it's a very common thing for ACOA's to think of their alcoholic parent). So I decided that yes, cutting contact for now would be good for me.

Thinking about that conversation fills me with dread. Hubby suggested that I write her an email outlining everything and then have a very brief conversation with her. I convey everything more eloquently through the written word and I can avoid a confrontation that way. It'll still be hard because I know it will "break her heart" (those would be her words, not mine). And that will make me feel guilty (M says I need to get over my guilt). And my mom really isn't a bad person - she's not this abusive monster or anything. She's just an alcoholic ( a very functional one) who happens to be an extremely big trigger for me.

I really hope she doesn't take this too hard.

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.

Having some icky feels

Yep. Icky feels. I fucking hate icky feels. There are several things going on, all of which are contributing to my current state of being.

First, the Denver Comic Con was this past weekend. Hubby and I dress up, we kinda go all out. And in Cons past I've enjoyed this and have had a good time. Not the case this weekend. I spent pretty much the entire time emotionally numb. Just . . . numb. I was just kinda there. I didn't feel anything. Except when I was hyper irritable. I did have that. How fun. I was worried I was going to have issues with anxiety, but, save for one panic attack, I was okay on that front. Little things I guess . . .

Second, I'm kind of a shitty wife. And by "kind of", I mean I've been a shitty wife. Why? Well, I have had lots of shit going on mentally/emotionally the past several months and I've let it overtake me. I've become a bit self-centered. I've been very difficult to be around. And to top things off, I forgot that yesterday was father's day. Which hurt my hubby. We typically don't do gifts, but I failed to even say Happy Father's Day until I heard something on the radio about it. Oops. I feel terrible about this. I was going to write something up last night that explained things, that let him know how much I appreciate him.

But nothing came out. Not because I couldn't think of things, but because I couldn't put it into words. I felt horrible. I hurt his feelings. After everything he does for me, I couldn't even make one small acknowledgement of how amazing he is. Which made me realize that I have, indeed, been self-centered and have put my family and everything else on the back burner. Which compounded my feeling horrible but also brought up anger. Anger at what I've been doing, and anger at hubby because he's making me aware of my shortcomings.

Now, don't get me wrong, none of that is his fault, but it's what I felt and was why I couldn't write anything. So instead, I tried in vain to verbalize my appreciation and apology, tearing up and trying desperately not to. (which, hubs, I love you more than anything and I still don't know how you put up with my crazy ass).

This whole situation led to something else - me trying not to catastrophize the situation. Something I'm an expert at and something that is exceedingly detrimental to my emotional well being. So I rationalized, told myself focusing on my shortcomings would do me no good and that I needed to focus on not doing this again. Crisis averted.

Or so I thought.

This morning my icky feels were worse and I felt very self destructive. So much so that I burnt myself with a lighter. Part in punishment, part out of anger/frustration/confusion/fear. I'm not entirely sure why I did it, just that I did it and it helped very briefly. I actually wanted to be more destructive, but I at least stopped myself from doing more.

Third, I had therapy this morning. M and I went over my report from Boston (it came in and Dr. Schulman change my diagnosis back to Bipolar 2 - make up your mind!). So we talked about that and discussed my weekend, lack of emotion, the hubby situation, and my burning myself (M said he'd smack me if I did it again - I wouldn't put it past him). It was all very tense for me and not the easiest to talk about.

And then . . . and then we spent the last 20 minutes or so discussing how we were going to go about all of the trauma work that needs to be done. This is very treacherous, complicated terrain, and we have to be very careful lest we send me into another major mood episode. We agreed that the most troublesome area is my ACOA/alcoholic upbringing/mommy issues - especially since my mom is alive and I have a very strained relationship with her (and she wants desperately to be a part of my life). He asked when I last spoke with her (which was last Tuesday, after Boston) and just talking about that phone call made me tense, apprehensive, and brought up lots of nasty feels. M actually specializes in trauma (works very closely with the military and local law enforcement here) and redirected and "reset" me before I left. It was very clever, actually.

I still have all these icky feels though. From everything mentioned above. I'm trying not to dwell, not catastrophize, not ruminate, not fortune tell - all of the things that I automatically do. Which is hard and puts a lot of strain on me. I'm trying to redirect myself like M did in therapy. I'm going to read today so that I can escape my own mind for a bit. I'm not allowed to do any ACOA/codependency related stuff on my own - only during actual therapy (M doesn't think I'll be able to handle it right now and I tend to agree with him). So reading. And probably sketching. I'm forcing myself to sketch every day in hopes that I'll get my muse/inspiration/creativity back (since the Geodon stole it away).

Stupid fucking icky feels.  

Just a quickie

My mood has been everywhere craptastic since Tuesday night. Like, "fuck is this a relapse because I can't even cope" craptastic. And it's shitty and annoying and I'm done with it.

I'm writing in my mood diary. I'm ignoring it. I'm faking it. I'm focusing on positives. I'm forcing myself to do things and be social and not a withdrawn hermit.

I'm overwhelmed.

And since I don't know what else to do, I'm just gonna leave this here:

Bitch, I'm fabulous. Deal with it.

Therapy and ACOA

Today was the therapy day that I was (and wasn't) looking forward to. If you remember from my last post, I had read Codependent No More and had all these horrible feels and today I was going to start talking about them. Well, talk I did.

I started by reading M my last journal entry (which he found amusing, laughed, and joked that maybe he should be worried and leave). He reminded me that I didn't need to dive in balls to the wall with this. No, definitely not. But I need to start. And today was as good a day as any (especially with all the icky feels I've had from reading that book).

Funny thing is, I didn't really know where to start. I pointed out my anger and frustration. That I don't want to have to sort through this. It's too much and it's not fair and I want to be done with it!

See, I'm still very much that scared little girl, trapped in the darkness of my own mind, haunted by my memories and feelings. They chase me, like the wolf after his prey. I'm cornered now, back against the wall, and all I can do is fight for my life.

And this is a fight. A struggle within myself, to overcome myself. To pull this little girl out of the darkness, into the light, and show her that everything is okay. We've survived, thrived even. She needs comfort. She needs protection. She needs to be able to own herself, gain confidence, and start repairing the damage.

Here's where we start:

My mom is an alcoholic. She's been one for as long as I can remember. Life with an alcoholic is unpredictable, chaotic, and sometimes downright terrifying. There is fear, mixed messages, confusion, anger, guilt, shame, hopelessness, powerlessness. All of this takes its toll. It wears you down.

I was the caretaker. When my mom was drunk, I made sure she was in bed. I made sure my brother got to bed. That we were all fed, that alarms were set. I felt responsible for them, my brother and mom. I was overprotective of my brother - if anything "bad" happened to him it would devastate me (though I hid these feelings because they were feelings that would start a screaming match between my mom and I). I put them before myself - always. Even though I desperately didn't want to.

I grew increasingly withdrawn at home and in life in general. My true feelings caused problems. I learned quickly to bottle them up. I slept all the time - I claimed I had mono to explain that away. I thought about suicide - often. I wished I could get away. I didn't have friends. I felt different from everyone. What if they found out my mom was an alcoholic? The shame and guilt kept me mute.

 I hated my life. I hated everything about it. I hated my mom. I hated that my dad couldn't save me. I hated that nobody saw how much pain I was in, how close I was to killing myself. I hated myself.

Maybe if I worked hard, maybe if I was the perfect daughter, did well in school, got a job, maybe then the drinking would stop. That didn't work. Maybe I wasn't perfect enough. Despite my good grades and working nearly full time starting at age 16, the drinking didn't stop. I sought approval. I sought affirmation that I was good. That I did good. If I was good, she'd have to stop. Right?

Wrong. No matter what I tried, the drinking didn't stop. I wasn't good enough. She even said it herself. My brother and I were a burden and maybe one day she just wouldn't come home. I was a failure. I wasn't good enough.

There were screaming matches about her drinking. Constantly. My brother and I would find and empty her bottles of vodka. We'd confront her lies. There were so many lies you never knew what to believe. Broken promises of getting sober. We learned not to trust.

So often, after a screaming match, mom would say she'd only have a drink on the weekend. We said okay. Then it became a few. We said okay. Then it was one a night. We relented. Then it was however many she wanted. We gave up. She'd say she wouldn't drink if there were people over. We said okay. Then it was drinking no matter who was over. We gave up. We learned that boundaries didn't matter - they got trampled on anyway.

She was embarrassing when she was drunk. She acted erratically, was unpredictable, and said things that made you want to curl into a ball and hide away. She did this in front of company, family, my brother's friends (I didn't have friends). I felt responsible for her actions - as if I should be able to control them. I felt they reflected badly on me. I felt ashamed of her and guilty I couldn't control her actions.

Now, let's look at this (very) brief synopsis and see what I've learned, what I've picked up. Shame, guilt. Despite trying to do everything right and be perfect, I'm a failure. I don't trust, don't have boundaries, and don't know what to believe. My feelings are bad and should be kept to myself. I feel responsible for other's actions. I put everyone ahead of myself, often to my detriment. Pain, confusion, anger, resentment.

All of these traits (and others) have followed me to this day. All of these I struggle with every day. I never realized this until M had me research ACOA and read Codependent No More. So much of my behaviors and thought patterns make sense now. My mom's alcoholism wasn't as bad as it could have been. My childhood wasn't nearly as bad as others had it. But that doesn't mean it affected me any less.

My journey to healing and recovery has started. The road is long, and probably rocky at times, but I have all the gear I need to make the trek. Hopefully I'll find peace along the way. And maybe, if I'm lucky, I'll find that little girl and I can hold her in my arms and tell her everything will be alright.

Confusion, feels, and general badassery

So I recently finished reading Codependent No More which was a homework book assigned by my therapist, M. At first I was all, "um, totally not codependent dude." He insisted. He told me I was stable enough to handle it. Stable enough to handle a book? He also told me not to read it on a day I was feeling vulnerable. Okay . . . .

I read it. His warning was accurate. It was difficult. Had I read it earlier, when my bipolar wasn't under control . . . I shudder to think what would have happened. This book . . .

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

The confusion, anger, feelings, pain and grief  that flooded me. I can't even comprehend, I don't even know . . . It's bad. It's all bad. The feels . . . good God the feels. M, what the fuck.

See, I've spent my entire LIFE suppressing this. All of this. All of this anger and pain and hurt and confusion. All of these God dammed FEELS. Suppressed. Boxed up. Hidden away in the darkest recess of my mind. Ignored.

Except . . . except they weren't totally gone. Not really. Because of my interactions with my mom. Because of my learned behaviors from my upbringing. And recently, M has been poking and prodding. He's the one who described me as ACOA, had me educate myself, stirred the beast from its slumber. He open the proverbial can of worms and these worms are ugly mother fuckers.

Everything I'm feeling right now, everything I'm desperately trying to hold in, shut up, suppress . . . it's leaking out. It can't come out. It can't. No.

But I fucking need it to come out. It has to. I'll never get better, never be truly recovered if it doesn't come out. And it terrifies me. I don't know what to do, where to start, how to deal. The anger . . . the anger I'm feeling right now. At my mom, my dad, myself. At the world. At how unfair everything is. At how, had I known this shit earlier, I could have saved myself some heartache.

Then there's the guilt, the shame. The pain, the grief. Loss. The origins of my unhealthy behaviors, habits, thoughts - all apparent. But still, denial. It's confusing.

This is shit I need to work through, and it's going to be hard. So hard. I'm scared and confused. I'm trying to hold everything in still. Honestly, I'm trying not to explode until I see M on Tuesday. I need guidance and support. This is a ton of ugly worms to sort through. From my earliest memory of my mom's alcoholism (age 6) to now (I'm 35) . . . 29 years of repressed emotion and anger and pain.

What have you gotten yourself into, M? Hopefully you fish because you now have a fuckton of bait.

Hey look! It's Tuesday!

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

I had therapy today, and I always seem to want to write when I have therapy. It makes me all intuitive and philosophical.

Or it just makes me want to get more shit out. I'm not philosophical - come on now.

Therapy today wasn't anywhere near as rough as it was last time (which was 2 weeks ago and was an ACOA talk). But I still feel horribly, emotionally drained. Like, I just need to sleep to escape all these feels.

Yes, I get Loki feels too. But those are different. Because Tom Hiddleston. 

I've been feeling a little more down and irritable lately. I have this sneaking suspicion it has a lot to do with not working with Mr. Chancy Pants anymore. I think I'll still be grieving off and on for awhile. And it's okay for me to grieve. I need to remember to give myself permission to do that. If I hold it in, well, that'll make it worse and will likely cause an emotional explosion. So where does that leave me?

(Yeah, Loki again.) It means I may actually be emotionally fragile sometimes (like I am right now), for seemingly no reason. I'm dealing with grief and loss while still trying to wade my way through managing the bipolar bit of my mood swings and all of the other emotional baggage and healing I've been working on. 

Sounds fun, yeah? Jealous?

Eventually, hopefully, I'll make sense of all of this and I'll push through and be me. And eventually, hopefully, I won't have to work so hard.