Annoyances with Creativity

There's something that's been bothering me for a bit now and it's really getting on my nerves: my lack of creativity. It's gone. Just . . . gone.

Some of you reading this may not know that I'm an artist. I draw, paint, and sew. My artwork is a huge part of who I am and is something that brings me joy, helps me escape.

And now it's gone.

My creativity started to suffer shortly after I was started on Geodon. My inspiration started to slip, my muse dried up, and my desire all but left me. For a couple of months I forced myself to paint - Chinese brush style paintings like this one:

(That's my horse Chance, by the way, who we had to put down in December.)

But I couldn't do anything else. Nothing else would come out. 

I haven't painted or drawn anything for a month now. Not because I don't want to - I do - but it's like I can't. I want to be able to sit down and draw and paint and feel good about what I'm doing. But it's not there. I have no inspiration, no muse. I have no desire. I have no vision.

I decided that I would force myself to sketch a little every day - even if it was horrible or lame - I would sketch every day in hopes of getting my inspiration back. I'm struggling with this. I sit down to my sketch pad, pencil in hand, and stare at the blank page. Draw a dragon, I think. Pencil touches paper and nothing happens. Think. I try to flesh out basic shapes but I don't see what I'm trying to draw (in my mind's eye). How about a fox or a horse then. Again, pencil to paper and nothing flows. I try to think of a pose, I try to picture the anatomy, and I'm left with stiff, abstract shapes that suggest they might be something. 

As if this weren't bad enough, I have something else going on - apathy. I want to draw and paint so badly but at the same time I could care less. My desire is gone. Any joy I get out of creating is gone. There's no real motivation because I don't get anything out of it and I struggle with it anyway. 

And I fucking HATE this. You have no idea.

I think my problem is 2-fold. On the one hand we have Geodon, which took away my creativity and my libido (Geodon is an asshole). On the other we have my depression, which I think is very much alive and well in me. The depression brings with it the apathy and the lack of joy. 

No wonder I can't create art.

Not only can I not create art (which is the hugest blow to me), I also can't write. And I don't mean blogging - obviously I'm blogging. No, what I can't write is my book or poetry. I've been wanting to write poetry but nothing - and I mean nothing - comes out. I'll get 2-4 lines and I'm dried up. There's nothing more. I'll sit down to work on my book, fingers poised over the keys, and not one word comes out. I just stare at the screen, my mind alternately blank and racing and nothing gets written. 

This is all so very frustrating.

Tonight I'm going to try sketching looking at reference photos. Just animals. Maybe that will help. I won't have to think about poses. I'm going to keep trying to spit out lines of poetry - maybe something will flow eventually. I'll keep trying to work on my book - as daunting and futile that it seems. 

It's all I can do.

My Therapist Made Me Mad

Let me start by saying this: I love my therapist. Love him. He's supported me, helped me and saved my life twice (literally - twice). He's funny, thoughtful and compassionate. He's everything a therapist should be.

But he said something at our last session (2 weeks ago) that made me mad. More than that - it pissed me right off and hurt me.

Just how much therapy do you need, Cami?

He was getting confrontational with me (which he does sometimes to make me really think) when that gem popped out. I was too flabbergasted to say anything at the time. As the week went on, I thought about it more and more and realized how much it affected me.

Why? Well, I've been seeing him for 2 years and I've just started figuring shit out. Finally I'm making great progress. I'm figuring this shit out people. I've been working hard. And that comment . . . it made me feel like a failure. Like I should have hit this point long ago.

I was furious over this, over how it made me feel. How could he say such a thing? I mulled it over and over in my mind, no doubt making it worse. I considered throwing in the towel. I told no one about it until last night when I broke down to my husband. He pointed out that M probably didn't mean anything like that, didn't mean to hurt me. And pointed out how I overreact emotionally. To everything. Which is true (part of bipolar, right?). Talking to him calmed me and made me feel a little better.

This morning I had therapy and planned on confronting M about his comment. And confront him I did. I told him exactly how it made me feel. I didn't raise my voice and I didn't cry. I was visibly angry and nervous and I was shaking (I don't do confrontations well).

I also cussed. Cause that's what I do when I'm upset. Apparently.

M apologized profusely. He said in all honestly he didn't remember saying that but he would never say anything to hurt me and was very sorry that he had. He thanked me for bringing it up and pointing it out to him - he wants feedback if he says something wrong or inappropriate. We talked at length about the situation and how I felt, what I needed, what I wanted.

And what I wanted was to be heard and to be validated. Which M did time and time again throughout our session. And I feel much better now. I feel at peace about it. He even said he wouldn't even think about discharging me a a patient - I need quite a bit more therapy (I'm crazy y'all! :P )

So in the end, I feel satisfied. I feel happy about it, I feel validated, I feel at peace. I feel that our relationship is actually better because of our honesty with each other.

So yeah. There ya go.

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.

Hey I'm at work!

No really - I'm totally at work right now.

And I'm bloody exhausted. I'm in disbelief at how drained I am right now. The morning was busy - very busy. I didn't get a chance to sit down and eat breakfast until 1:30 (meaning I ate my lunch instead). And it wore me out.

The sad thing is, 4 months ago that wouldn't have been a problem. It wouldn't have phased me one bit. I've been forgetting things all day. Lots of things. Printing face sheets, calling a physician, calling the NNP about a c-section, giving report, putting in orders . . . I charted things under the wrong time and had to go back and fix it. Luckily I've caught all these little errors and nothing was major. But the fact that this is happening . . .

It frustrates me to no end. To know that my level of functioning is so deteriorated so much from what it has been. From what it used to be . . .To know that I'm struggling more than I ever thought I would. It frustrates me and depresses me - and I'm trying desperately not to become depressed about this (and sadly, it would be easy to slip).

I've reread this post 3 times because there have been so many errors - missed letters, extra letters, words completely left out, words out of order. What the fuck is going on??? I shouldn't be having issues like this.

And yet I am.

To be healthy I should accept my new level of functioning and move on. But that's near impossible for me right now. Maybe someday I will - but I can't now. Not now. Maybe it's my pride. Maybe it's my high standards for myself. It's probably both. And maybe more.

All I know is that I'm tired and drained and frustrated and down.

I'm Stubborn

And probably stupid.

Why? You ask. Work. Work is why.

See, I'm going back to work this Saturday (the 11th). I've been out since December 18th - 3 weeks. Which, in retrospect, doesn't seem very long. Three weeks off to get better from a long lived mixed episode and severe suicidal ideation.

I took 2 weeks off after my hospitalization in November. Worked two weeks, and then was back in the hospital. And now two weeks off then back to work. Not a good track record as of late.

I ask myself, am I ready to go back yet? My answer? I don't know. I've had a few days where I say YES! Yes I can go back! I'm all good y'all!

But I have days like today and yesterday and the day before where I'm anything but good. Where I most certainly do NOT feel like I'm okay to go back. I feel fragile - like I could shatter at any moment. It would just take the slightest knock . . .

I'm still getting overwhelmed easily. I'm still having anger and irritability. Racing thoughts every night (it takes me 2-3 hours to fall asleep thanks to my racing mind). And then I have this . . . horrid feeling. I'm pretty sure it's akathisia. We'll use yesterday as an example because yesterday was bad. I get this feeling like I need to move. I need to move or constantly be doing something. If I'm not I have this looming sense of dread, of impending doom. I get antsy and restless and anxious. I get highly agitated. If I'm not doing something, everything is pointless and I don't know how I'm going to make it through the day or cope with anything.

I felt like that all day yesterday. I drew, I sewed, I was on the computer. I paced in the kitchen constantly while dinner was cooking - I couldn't stop. I could hardly sit still to eat. And after I was finished I left. I left the house to go on a drive and smoke my electronic cigarette because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I was so antsy and agitated it's all I could think to do.

While I was driving something hit me. Hit me hard. I realized how profoundly exhausted I am. Mentally and emotionally exhausted. I came out of a major depressive episode this summer to a month or so of relative stability, only to be thrust head first into a full blown mixed episode for the last 3-4 months.

I have not had a break.

I'm in a constant state of emotional chaos and I'm goddamned FUCKING tired.

I finally realized this last night while driving around, listening to music, and smoking.

When I take all of this into account, how I really feel, how tired I am . . . I'm not ready to go back. But I am. I am going back. This Saturday. Because I'm stupid. I guess I need to see if I can handle it. I need to prove to myself, to J, to M, to my friends and coworkers that I'm okay. I got this guys, I'm fine. I'm going to put everyone ahead of me. I know this is what I'm doing and yet I do it anyway. I have my pride to think of, people. And that good 'ol financial burden - not a good thing to foreclose on your house.

And think of this too: I go back, I can't handle it, I have to take more time off. What does that do for me?? Makes me look even worse. Wow, she must be really sick - she can't handle being at work. What if I lose my shit at work? What then?

But what if I'm perfectly fine to go back? What if all of this is just me being nervous about going back? What if I'm just psyching myself out? What if I'm really fucking fine?

I don't know what the fuck I should really do. I don't want to jeopardize my health. But I also don't want to jeopardize my job.

Or my stubborn pride.

Fuck you, Geodon

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

Well, fuck you.

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

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

For an hour.

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

Nope. It's not.

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

Boom. Done. Decision made.

Bad decision.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bleh

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

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

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

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

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

But can't I get a break?

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

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

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

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

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

Guilty

So here's something stupid: I feel guilty sleeping. You read that right.

I feel guilty sleeping.

Let me try to explain this. Do you remember back in July when I overdosed on Risperdal? You don't? Well, go read this. It'll help this post make more sense. Don't worry - I'll wait.

Did you read it? Did you really?

Okay. So, my sleeping has been "off" since I've been on the Geodon. My first night on it I was a zombie. I could hardly keep my eyes open in the hospital during visitation hour (I was falling asleep on my husband). The next 2 nights were actually pretty good. Then I went up on the dose. The first night I was a little drowsy. Okay, not bad. That following morning I was very groggy, lightheaded. I felt like I was going to faint. But it passed. That night (the night before last), I slept only 3 hours. I was a little groggy yesterday morning, but not bad. And last night I slept 5 hours. This morning, only slightly groggy.

Now, why do I feel guilty about this?

Because all of this reminds me of how I felt while in my Risperdal induced coma.

My first night on Geodon, with not being able to stay awake but desperately trying to - just like my first few hours on the Risperdal.

Two mornings ago feeling groggy and lightheaded and like I was going to pass out - that's how I felt during the night and next day on the Risperdal.

Last night, the time that I did sleep, it was like I was only dozing, waking up groggy and feeling . . . weird - like I spent the entire day on Risperdal.

The day and a half I spent in and out of consciousness on Risperdal was possibly the most terrifying and shameful time of my life. Terrifying because of how I felt, what was going through my mind, I could have died. All I wanted was to sleep and I could have died. Shameful because my hubby and son had to watch me and deal with me in this semi-comatose stupor.

I hated myself. I truly hated myself.

And my sleeping habits right now remind me of this time. This time where I was terrified, depressed, and full of self loathing.

I know my body needs to adjust to the Geodon and that in time it will. I know that I haven't done anything stupid or bad. I haven't taken or done anything I shouldn't have. I know this.

But it doesn't change how I feel. So I feel guilty and bad and a little scared.

But mostly guilty.

Which is stupid.

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.

So I stopped my Zyprexa . . .

And HOORAY!!! My mixed episode is BACK! Full swing!
I was started on Zyprexa 3 weeks ago while I was in the hospital for mania from my mixed episode. I experienced VERY noticeable cognitive deficits - to where I didn't feel safe working (delivering babies). So I stopped taking the Zyprexa on my own without consulting anyone (because I'm a rebel, people).

It's been 5 days without it and my mixed episode is back. Sooooo excited. I randomly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably for 15-20 minutes. It passes in an instant and my mood moves on. Yesterday, in a delivery, hypomania struck. And it was bad. Like, if this family wasn't so awesome and did't think I was the most hilarious thing in the world and should do stand up comedy, I could have been suspended or FIRED bad. And I couldn't stop laughing.

At all.

I left the room in near hysterics because everything was just so damn FUNNY. And like I said, I'm lucky this family thought everything I said was hilarious - they loved me.. Thank God for small favors!

Like me being hilarious.

So I figured I ought to get help before I go completely off the deep end and end up in the hospital again. My pdoc is going out of the country tomorrow, but I was able to get an appointment today. Go me. I'm nervous because I know he'll want to do another antipsychotic and I have a feeling I'll have all the same side effects (the cognitive deficits weren't the only side effects - I also got a face and neck full of acne, insatiable hunger, gas . . . pretty freaking awesome stuff, if you ask me). And I just can't deal with all that.

But I'm guessing I have no choice. We'll see what he says. What I think I'd really like is a med holiday. Stop everything, detox, and start again. It's just that pesky 90-95% chance that I'll go completely psychotic off my meds. Maybe I'll be that 5-10% . . .

Probably not.

I'm also a bit hypo right now, so I'm enjoying myself greatly. Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.

My Poor, Befuddled Brain

That's right. Befuddled. I like that word. It's a good word. And under used too. We should change that . . .
Anyway, this is a little rant about my brain (Clancy. I named my brain Clancy. Don't judge). I've noticed a steady cognitive decline since last February (2013). That's when I was hospitalized the first time. My second hospitalization was last week, and it's gotten worse.

I have a hard time concentrating. I get distracted easily. I'm having memory issues (I don't remember who told me what, if I'm repeating myself, what did I need at the store?) - if I don't write it down, I tend to forget (this is soooooo not how I used to be). I get overwhelmed easily (again, NOT how I used to be).

I think this realization hit me hard tonight. So, it's Thanksgiving (but you knew that already, didn't you, you sly minx). My hubby and I decided to go to Walmart tonight for their 6pm "Black Friday on Thursday" sale. And guess what? It was bloody busy! Lots of people. Okay, fine, I'll deal (crowds have been making me anxious as of late). While standing in line, my sister called. I was trying to talk to her when I suddenly lost my ability to do anything. I'm not even joking. I was trying to concentrate on our conversation but there was so much going on. So many distractions and people and noises and lights and there's a screaming kid and that lady is being a bitch and what the hell did my sis just say?

It was too much. I babbled incoherently. Seriously. Words came out. Just words, no specific order. Let's just pretend that was a sentence. Yeah . . . that was TOTALLY a sentence. I finally stammered out that I would call her back when we left the store (we did, by the way, score a laptop for $278).

But, a couple years ago that wouldn't have phased me. At. All. And it's frustrating. I've started noticing little deficits here and there at work, too. That's not good. I'm an RN. I deliver babies. I have to be on top of the game. But it's creeping up there. Stupid Clancy. Clancy is an ass.

I know it's part of the disease progression. I know it can be side effects of the meds. But let's be honest - this shit is annoying. And it's affecting my typing!! OMG! WHY?? I mistype constantly!! And if my mind is racing . . . well, my fingers can't keep up. Lame.

Boom. Rant over.

Hey . . . It's Wednesday

Well look at that. It's Wednesday. And tomorrow is Thanksgiving! OMG!

I'm excited for pie.

This is the most accurate pie chart ever. Because pie. PIE.

Also? I'm still cycling. It's mild . . . but it's there. Hyperirritability. Racing thoughts at times. Times where I'm on the verge of tears for no reason. It's all very frustrating. I'm getting there, I know that. But I want to be there now. 

I'm trying to accept that this is how it may be. For awhile. And I hate it. 

But, pie motherfuckers.  

Thursday

So it's Thursday. And that's not terribly exciting in and of itself. But am on call, which is nice. I really didn't want to work today - especially after how the last 3 days have gone.

Yesterday I was rapid cycling again. I spent all morning near tears. I cried in the parking lot at work, teared up in the elevator, and was close all morning. Around 3 I started to level off. Around 5 I was hypo manic. By the time I got home I had crashed.

It's starting to become a pattern.

Which is why I'm glad I'm on call. I have 5 days off after today, so this will make 6 days off! (Yay! I can do math!) I need this time off. Hopefully it will help. The whole "rapid cycling" thing just isn't working for me.

Fuck you Clancy

(I named my brain Clancy, for those of you who don't know)

So my brain is stupid. Not that this is really a surprise, but it's getting damn annoying. I'm feeling better, and yesterday I felt pretty damn good. And then . . .

My brain is an asshole. Clancy, you're an asshole. 

I'm working through all of this ACOA and codependency shit at the moment, which fucking sucks - let's be honest. It's difficult, and even though I have ups and downs with it, for the most part I've been okay. I'm learning more about myself, my flawed coping mechanisms, and how I can change all of this. I've been starting to be gentler with myself (trying, at the very least), and am trying to forgive myself. 

And then BAM! Major bipolar mood swing. Out of nowhere. For no reason. Just sadness and hopelessness and depressive thoughts flooding me. It literally happened in seconds. I was fine, and then I was not. 

This happened last night and has continued into today. I feel like crying and screaming, only I can't. I'm trying not to let it bring me down. I went to the gym, cleaned the bathrooms, did the dishes, swept, vacuumed, did laundry. I'm keeping busy. I'm writing. I'm not curling up into a ball of misery which is what I want to do. So that's a plus.

And I'm saying this is a bipolar swing because of the sudden randomness of its onslaught. If it was going to be feeling like shit because of, say, working through some ACOA stuff, it comes on gradually. Not this. Clancy brought this shit on fast. And I really hate that this stuff still happens. That it will always happen. And that I have to be constantly vigilant for it. That while this isn't necessarily the start of a mood episode, it's still difficult and annoying and tiresome to have to deal with. And that, at any time, my brain might decide to swing me into depression or mania, no matter how stable I think I am, and no matter how much I try to stop it.

So Clancy? You, sir, are an asshole.

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.

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.

Just a quickie.

No, not that kind. Get your head outta the gutter.

I've had lots on my mind lately. Trying to sort out my anger issues as of late, the feeling of almost being in tears most of the time, feeling overwhelmed with everything. It's frustrating, it's annoying. I'm also wrestling with knowing that I'm having another ACOA talk in therapy next week. I need to. I need to get through this and move on but holy FUCK is it gonna suck. I'll be writing more on this, at some point, just not now. Gotta sort it out still.

Right now I'm actually writing for a mini vent. See, J is in kinda a foul mood. Just an off day for him. Everyone has them (I swear the whole last year and a half has been nothing but off days for me). He's been working hard, doing stuff around the house and I get it.

But my problem is that I let the moods of other people influence my mood and bring me down. First, with J especially, I think it's my fault. He tells me it's not, just an off day. But won't elaborate. Then, for some unknown reason, the fact that he's down makes me resentful, then annoyed, and then down myself. Then I withdraw and want to be alone.

Which is where I am now. I didn't really have a breakfast (coffee, yogurt, handful of chocolate covered pretzels), didn't eat lunch (well, a slice of cheese), and I don't want to eat dinner. I don't care. I don't care if I eat or not. I get like this when I feel like this. Fuck you food!! *holds middle fingers out triumphantly*

So I took a break and ate a banana. Go me. My jaw is bugging me. It keeps popping. Fuck you jaw. My dentist said physical therapy is next step. Yay.

Stupid mood and stupid jaw.