And I hate these friends. I wish they would go the fuck away.
If you don't know what apathy or anhedonia is, google it.
The week after my hospitalization was filled with depression and despair. Then came Boston where I was warned that my moods might get a little screwy. And they did get screwy - I cycled through depression, irritability, giddiness and feeling okay several times a day. Fucking tiring.
But now . . . for the last week . . . I have been either irritable or nothing. I touched on it in my last post, my icky feels. I just can't shake this numb feeling. I've felt it since last Friday. Almost a full week now. I have the hyper irritability - I've got that emotion down pat - or I have this all encompassing nothingness. This lack of feeling. I try to feel. I force laughter, I force myself to be upbeat (which is all fake - I don't feel any of it). I force myself to talk, to not be as withdrawn as I feel.
And it's not really working. All I want to do is lay on the couch and stare at the ceiling. I want to not exist again.
Tuesday I had no choice but to do something, to interact - I was volunteering at the riding center all day. But I was a hollow husk. Yesterday I forced myself to do things. I had to take my son to therapy, I had acupuncture, I met a friend for pie and coffee. But other than that I just kind of floated around in a numb haze.
Today is looking to be, uh, not good. Today I have more feels and they're of the bad variety. They're of the depressed, self destructive variety. I've spend all morning on the verge of tears but I can't actually cry. Maybe it would help if I could. I want desperately to not exist. I feel like everything is pointless again. I'm always going to have these stupid fucking mood swings to deal with so what the fuck is the point of continuing on?
I want to self harm. I want to burn myself again. I have a string of 4 very noticeable burn marks from Monday on my left inner arm and I want to add to them. I want to feel the searing white flash of pain. I want the momentary adrenaline rush. More importantly, I want the outward expression of the pain I feel inside. I'm hoping my previous burn marks scar. I want the reminder.
It's taking every ounce of self control I have to not burn myself right now. I'm writing this hoping that it will help dissipate the urge. I may try going downstairs to box. I remind myself that self-harm serves no purpose and can even makes things worse. But I may end up burning myself, I don't know. I'm trying not to.
I feel like I don't know what to do with myself or my life. Right now, at this moment, everything seems so bleak. I'll be dealing with these swings my entire life - which is daunting and depressing. I have all this fucking trauma work to go through in therapy which is daunting and depressing. I have no desire/inspiration/get no joy out of my artwork anymore which is depressing. I'm getting no joy out of life right now which is depressing.
All of this is the apathy. All of this is the anhedonia. All of this is part of a possible major depressive episode. I'm hoping not. I'm hoping my brain is just in shut down mode from the whole depression/suicide/hospitalization thing and that soon it will kick into gear again. Who knows, maybe this is my new baseline. Whatever the fuck it is I want it to stop.
Also? All of these thoughts, these words I'm fleshing out here, represent several errors of thinking, or, cognitive distortions. Namely, catastrophizing, fortune telling, all or nothing thinking, overgeneralization, and disqualifying the positive. There are 10 "official" cognitive distortions and I'm practicing 5 of them right now. Intellectually, I know this. Intellectually, I try talking myself out of these, point out the flaws, counter them. But sadly, it's not helping. That's part of the problem with me - I know this shit. I recognize it and work against it. I try. But I still fall prey to it and it makes my mood cycles worse. I've been working on all of this so much in therapy over the past year and still it gets me.
I don't know what else to say. I hate being so negative but that's where I'm at right now. I'm trying not to ruminate, I'm trying to counter my distorted thinking, and I'm trying to not burn myself. I see my new pdoc at 3 today so maybe that will be helpful.
Ugh. I'm tired of having shitty feels or no feels. Fucking brain.
Showing posts with label hospitalization. Show all posts
Showing posts with label hospitalization. Show all posts
Thursday, June 19, 2014
Tuesday, June 3, 2014
So some shit happened
And by shit, I mean SHIT. Serious shit, y'all. And I'm going to write about it, and I'm going to be blunt and visceral and personal.
Because I'm lucky to be alive to be writing this.
Last week I came the closest I ever have to killing myself. And had I attempted, I probably would have completed. I had a plan and a backup plan. I had a backup plan to my backup plan.
If you know me, you wouldn't have known any of this. I hid it. I hid it as well as I could from everyone. Even my hubby and best friend. Why? Because if they knew then I couldn't carry it out. Now let me tell you something that may not make any sense - I don't want to die. I flat out don't want to die.
So why suicide . . . ?
I was put on a medication called Depakote. It's a mood stabilizer that was going to replace my lithium. I was started on a low dose - 1000mg. After 2 weeks I was more depressed. I was having some thoughts of death. And I knew it was the Depakote. I saw my psych doc and told him this. His response? No, it's not the Depakote, you need to go up on the dose. We're going to double it. I stared at him a minute. Seriously? I just told you I've had worsening depression since starting it! No, go up to 2000mg.
So I did. He knows what he's talking about, right? Wrong.
During the first week at 2000mg, I became obsessed with death and dying. I purposefully read books that centered around suicide - it was on my mind all the time. The thoughts were intrusive - I didn't want them there - I really didn't. They were disturbing. They were scary. I had my hubby lock up all of my meds.
My second week at 2000mg was the most horrific week of my life. I spent hours sobbing, curled in a ball on the floor, wishing I could just die. The pain was so bad I just . . . I needed to die.
If you've never been at this place, this place of utter terror and pain and despair, you'll never quite understand this. The pain is guttural, animalistic. It reaches into every fiber of your being. It hurts emotionally, mentally, and physically. While I cried, while I sobbed and wailed and screamed and pounded my fists, all I wanted was the pain to end. The torture to end. I hit my head against the wall. I burned myself with a cigarette lighter. I would have cut myself but the blades had all been locked up. There was no way I could go on like this. No way I could possibly continue to live like this. How could anyone? How could anyone be expected to live with this much pain?? Death was the only way out.
Last Wednesday night I told my hubby that it was a matter of when, not if, I would kill myself. I know I scared him. I was sobbing, laying on him, hurting and scared and tired. I was so tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of hurting. Tired of trying and having nothing work. I was tired. I told him that I wanted to die and that it was a good thing my pills were locked up. I knew I needed to go to the hospital then, but I didn't. He knew, but didn't press it.
Thursday morning was bad. I felt worse. But I had to press on, right? I had to take my son to his therapy session. And his therapist, upon seeing me, told me to call my therapist. I trembled. I knew I needed to be admitted but I needed someone to tell me that. I needed validation that it was okay. That I needed to be safe. I went into the bathroom and called my therapist, sobbing so hard I was almost incoherent. He told me what I needed to hear: go to the damn hospital.
And I did. I admitted myself on Thursday afternoon. Had I not, I would have overdosed on Geodon. One medication that isn't locked up because I take it every day. I have way more than enough to do the job. And had I not gone to the hospital, well . . . well those pills would have been down my throat.
I was discharged today, Tuesday. I'm still depressed. Damn depressed, actually. But I'm no longer suicidal. Depakote was the culprit in this - my first day off of it and the suicidal thoughts went away.
Last week I felt the worse that I ever have in my life. I never want to feel that way again. Ever. I can't. I came scarily close to killing myself. Closer than I ever need to come because I have wonderful friends and family.
I can't put into words the amount of pain I was in. I wish I could. I wish I could make you understand. But until you've been there, you can't possibly.
I'm alive. I'm going to Boston on Sunday to see the bipolar specialists and maybe get a new perspective. I'm trying to stay positive.
But I'm still so tired.
Because I'm lucky to be alive to be writing this.
Last week I came the closest I ever have to killing myself. And had I attempted, I probably would have completed. I had a plan and a backup plan. I had a backup plan to my backup plan.
If you know me, you wouldn't have known any of this. I hid it. I hid it as well as I could from everyone. Even my hubby and best friend. Why? Because if they knew then I couldn't carry it out. Now let me tell you something that may not make any sense - I don't want to die. I flat out don't want to die.
So why suicide . . . ?
I was put on a medication called Depakote. It's a mood stabilizer that was going to replace my lithium. I was started on a low dose - 1000mg. After 2 weeks I was more depressed. I was having some thoughts of death. And I knew it was the Depakote. I saw my psych doc and told him this. His response? No, it's not the Depakote, you need to go up on the dose. We're going to double it. I stared at him a minute. Seriously? I just told you I've had worsening depression since starting it! No, go up to 2000mg.
So I did. He knows what he's talking about, right? Wrong.
During the first week at 2000mg, I became obsessed with death and dying. I purposefully read books that centered around suicide - it was on my mind all the time. The thoughts were intrusive - I didn't want them there - I really didn't. They were disturbing. They were scary. I had my hubby lock up all of my meds.
My second week at 2000mg was the most horrific week of my life. I spent hours sobbing, curled in a ball on the floor, wishing I could just die. The pain was so bad I just . . . I needed to die.
If you've never been at this place, this place of utter terror and pain and despair, you'll never quite understand this. The pain is guttural, animalistic. It reaches into every fiber of your being. It hurts emotionally, mentally, and physically. While I cried, while I sobbed and wailed and screamed and pounded my fists, all I wanted was the pain to end. The torture to end. I hit my head against the wall. I burned myself with a cigarette lighter. I would have cut myself but the blades had all been locked up. There was no way I could go on like this. No way I could possibly continue to live like this. How could anyone? How could anyone be expected to live with this much pain?? Death was the only way out.
Last Wednesday night I told my hubby that it was a matter of when, not if, I would kill myself. I know I scared him. I was sobbing, laying on him, hurting and scared and tired. I was so tired. Tired of pretending. Tired of hurting. Tired of trying and having nothing work. I was tired. I told him that I wanted to die and that it was a good thing my pills were locked up. I knew I needed to go to the hospital then, but I didn't. He knew, but didn't press it.
Thursday morning was bad. I felt worse. But I had to press on, right? I had to take my son to his therapy session. And his therapist, upon seeing me, told me to call my therapist. I trembled. I knew I needed to be admitted but I needed someone to tell me that. I needed validation that it was okay. That I needed to be safe. I went into the bathroom and called my therapist, sobbing so hard I was almost incoherent. He told me what I needed to hear: go to the damn hospital.
And I did. I admitted myself on Thursday afternoon. Had I not, I would have overdosed on Geodon. One medication that isn't locked up because I take it every day. I have way more than enough to do the job. And had I not gone to the hospital, well . . . well those pills would have been down my throat.
I was discharged today, Tuesday. I'm still depressed. Damn depressed, actually. But I'm no longer suicidal. Depakote was the culprit in this - my first day off of it and the suicidal thoughts went away.
Last week I felt the worse that I ever have in my life. I never want to feel that way again. Ever. I can't. I came scarily close to killing myself. Closer than I ever need to come because I have wonderful friends and family.
I can't put into words the amount of pain I was in. I wish I could. I wish I could make you understand. But until you've been there, you can't possibly.
I'm alive. I'm going to Boston on Sunday to see the bipolar specialists and maybe get a new perspective. I'm trying to stay positive.
But I'm still so tired.
Friday, April 4, 2014
Where am I at?
I'm at a weird point in my life right now. After the horrible setback I had last week after stopping and then restarting the geodon, I find myself getting more stable.
So why is that weird? Why is getting stable weird?
Because I'm not used to it.
Let's look at my life: I have been in complete chaos for 2.5 years. I have been either mixed or severely depressed for 2.5 years. But look at the last 5 months - 2 hospitalizations, several med changes, going part time at work, having issues every day at work (with memory, cognition, and getting overwhelmed easily). It has been rough. And that is putting it ridiculously mildly. All I'm used to is crisis and heightened everything. I'm used to feeling like shit. I'm used to thinking that it will never get better.
But now, I'm slowly getting better. Now I'm slowly getting stable.
And I have no idea how to react or what to do with myself.
I'm confused. I'm unsettled. Truth be told, I don't like this feeling. It is so foreign to me now, so strange, so . . . wrong that I can't quite handle it. All I've wanted was stability and now that it's happening, I'm terrified. See, as I'm slowly getting more stable, I'm slowly losing my identity. Everything that is "me", everything that I'm used to is going away and that's pretty damn scary. Even if it's for the better (which it is). I have to reinvent myself now. I have to figure out who I am when I'm not in crisis or chaos.
I'll be honest - I'm struggling with this. Part of me is fighting this, wanting to go back to the way things were - where everything is familiar and comfortable, no matter how horrible it truly was. I know it will take time - possibly a lot of time - before I'm comfortable with the stable me. I'll get there, eventually. And hopefully I won't muck everything up along the way.
So why is that weird? Why is getting stable weird?
Because I'm not used to it.
Let's look at my life: I have been in complete chaos for 2.5 years. I have been either mixed or severely depressed for 2.5 years. But look at the last 5 months - 2 hospitalizations, several med changes, going part time at work, having issues every day at work (with memory, cognition, and getting overwhelmed easily). It has been rough. And that is putting it ridiculously mildly. All I'm used to is crisis and heightened everything. I'm used to feeling like shit. I'm used to thinking that it will never get better.
But now, I'm slowly getting better. Now I'm slowly getting stable.
And I have no idea how to react or what to do with myself.
I'm confused. I'm unsettled. Truth be told, I don't like this feeling. It is so foreign to me now, so strange, so . . . wrong that I can't quite handle it. All I've wanted was stability and now that it's happening, I'm terrified. See, as I'm slowly getting more stable, I'm slowly losing my identity. Everything that is "me", everything that I'm used to is going away and that's pretty damn scary. Even if it's for the better (which it is). I have to reinvent myself now. I have to figure out who I am when I'm not in crisis or chaos.
I'll be honest - I'm struggling with this. Part of me is fighting this, wanting to go back to the way things were - where everything is familiar and comfortable, no matter how horrible it truly was. I know it will take time - possibly a lot of time - before I'm comfortable with the stable me. I'll get there, eventually. And hopefully I won't muck everything up along the way.
Friday, January 24, 2014
Back to work . . .
So I'm going back to work on Monday after having been off for 5 weeks. Am I ready to go back? I don't know. I mean, I'm ready in that I want to be back and I'm getting pretty bored at home . . . but I don't know if I'm ready to be back.
I had coffee yesterday with a couple of friends and was, yet again, surprised at how tiring it was. It shouldn't be tiring - it's just coffee - but it was.
If seeing friends, and having coffee with friends is so tiring, so exhausting, how is a 12 hour shift at work going to be?
Well, we'll see.
The past few days I've been coming to terms with something else: how sick I truly was. I can't deny it anymore, even though I still try. I was sick. Very sick. I was mixed and then I was manic - full blown manic, for the first time ever. Then back to mixed. Then suicidal. All in a short period of time. It took a lot out of me. I'm still reeling from it.
There are other changes happening too. Something that I never even dreamed would happen . . .
Hubs and I are considering foreclosing on our house. Foreclosing and filing bankruptcy.
Because of my bipolar.
See, there's a very good possibility that I'm going to be going part time - less stress, better for my brain. But going part time puts an added financial strain on us. Could we afford to stay in our house? Of course! But things would be tight. And if something happened, if I was hospitalized again, or needed disability . . . well, that would be another story.
So we're considering foreclosure and bankruptcy, which is terrifying.
So much going on.
I had coffee yesterday with a couple of friends and was, yet again, surprised at how tiring it was. It shouldn't be tiring - it's just coffee - but it was.
If seeing friends, and having coffee with friends is so tiring, so exhausting, how is a 12 hour shift at work going to be?
Well, we'll see.
The past few days I've been coming to terms with something else: how sick I truly was. I can't deny it anymore, even though I still try. I was sick. Very sick. I was mixed and then I was manic - full blown manic, for the first time ever. Then back to mixed. Then suicidal. All in a short period of time. It took a lot out of me. I'm still reeling from it.
There are other changes happening too. Something that I never even dreamed would happen . . .
Hubs and I are considering foreclosing on our house. Foreclosing and filing bankruptcy.
Because of my bipolar.
See, there's a very good possibility that I'm going to be going part time - less stress, better for my brain. But going part time puts an added financial strain on us. Could we afford to stay in our house? Of course! But things would be tight. And if something happened, if I was hospitalized again, or needed disability . . . well, that would be another story.
So we're considering foreclosure and bankruptcy, which is terrifying.
So much going on.
Monday, January 6, 2014
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.
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.
Monday, December 23, 2013
My horse, my hospitalization, and my meds
I plan on doing a tribute post for my horse, Chance, who very tragically is being put to sleep today. He was kicked by another horse and fractured his left hock. There's nothing that can be done to help him as the fracture would not heal and he'd go crazy in the stall for the months it would take to try. I'm devastated over the news as this horse saved my life and stole my heart. I know he'll still be watching over me, but there's something about burying your face in your horse's neck and breathing deeply . . . it's the most therapeutic thing I know.
Well, let's move on to the biggies here - my hospitalization and my meds. (Now, just a note here: I'm not detailing my hospitalization - that part will be in my book). If you read through my past several posts (go ahead, I'll wait . . . done? Good.), you'll notice that I was getting progressively worse. I was having severe depressive downswings where I would start sobbing out of nowhere. Sobs full of pain and despair and hopelessness. Sobs full of thoughts of death, a desire to die.
These downswings were worsening and coming more frequently over about a week's time, each day drawing me deeper into depression. I knew where I was headed. I knew what needed to be done. I knew . . . but I dare not say it.
Wednesday the 18th I had therapy with M. I had been crying in the parking lot before hand, but had myself under control before walking into the office.
Or so I thought.
I broke down again as M was coming out to bring me back to his office. I tried to stop, tried to hide it, tried to play it off as nothing. But let's be honest - M is a smart guy and sobbing uncontrollably usually means something is wrong . . . am I right?
He asked what was going on and I told him I didn't know. I had been like this all week long, each day getting worse, passively suicidal on Monday. But I didn't know what was wrong. I didn't know why, just that it was getting worse each day.
He asked what we needed to do. I shook my head. I don't know, I said . . . though I did. And so did he.
"I think you need to go to the hospital." Boom. It was out. I sobbed harder. "I want you to call J, and give the phone to me. He needs to either meet you here or at your house and take you in. You need to go to the hospital."
I looked at him through bleary eyes, my lip quivering, and nodded. I fished my phone out of my purse and called my husband. M talked to him, told him what was going on, and they came up with a game plan - we would finish our session and when I was leaving I would call J to meet me at the house. From there . . . hospital.
I looked at M feeling defeated. "This is my second hospitalization in a month." I shook my head as more tears threatened to fall.
"Cami, I've never seen you this bad. Even at your worst, I haven't seen you this bad. You need to go in." I nodded slowly.
We talked about the previous week, of the worsening depression. It came on so fast. So much change in just a week. It didn't make sense to me.
And then it did.
I had an idea. What if it was the Latuda? The new antipsychotic I had been put on? My first random bouts of crying started the day after my first dose . . . It was possible, wasn't it? Antidepressant commercials and med inserts warn about worsening depression and suicidal thoughts and actions, so why not an antipsychotic? It seemed plausible.
And was confirmed by Dr. S in the hospital.
When I stopped taking the Latuda in the hospital, the sobbing, horrific depressive downswings stopped. Almost immediately. There was a hug change in me between Wednesday and Friday (and thank GOD for several reasons - one of which was the ability to then go home on Saturday!). Sudden onset coinciding with starting the med, and sudden disappearance of episodes with the discontinuance of the med.
Latuda literally made me crazy.
Dr. S swapped out the Latuda for Geodon - a tried and true med that has been around for a long time (Latuda has been on the market about a year). She's had very good success with a Geodon and Lithium combo - and I've already been on lithium for awhile.
So I'm hopeful now. I'm feeling more like myself - a lot more. I'm actually feeling happiness and contentment and joy. I'm still having some swings - I'll suddenly have a wave of depression wash over me - but it's mild and short lived. But I can say that I'm me.
I'm me. And that's huge.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Still Cycling
I'm still cycling. It's mild, but it's there. Which is annoying. Can't I just be better already?
Also:
On Nov. 20, the first day of my last hospitalization, I was started on Zyprexa (I was manic and delusional and it was decided that an antipsychotic is a good idea). This is my first time being on an antipsychotic.
Now, I've been having some slight cognitive decline over the last 2 years, but nothing to write home about. But since the 20th . . . sweet mother of GOD what the hell is going on?!?!
First - memory. I'm forgetting everything. EVERYTHING. Things that I know inside and out - forgotten. I've done discharge instructions with patients literally THOUSANDS of times, but now I stop mid sentence not knowing what the hell I was just saying or how I should proceed. It's gone. I just stand there like an idiot stumbling over what I'm trying to say.
Second - concentration and focus. Yeah, totally not there. I get distracted easily. I just can't seem to focus or concentrate AT ALL.
Third - typing. Yep. Typing. Cami, what the hell are you talking about? Well, when I type I randomly leave letters out of words. For no reason. I don't know if my brain is moving too fast for my fingers to keep up or if I'm just literally forgetting letters. (I had to go back and reread this several times to make sure it made sense).
I know some of this is the disease itself - I've had some of these cognitive deficits already. But they haven't been to this extent. And I've declined so quickly.
Could it be the Zyprexa? I'm thinking yes. I emailed Dr. C about it and I'm guessing we'll be taking me off of it (which I'm perfectly fine with).
How stupid is all this???
Also:
On Nov. 20, the first day of my last hospitalization, I was started on Zyprexa (I was manic and delusional and it was decided that an antipsychotic is a good idea). This is my first time being on an antipsychotic.
Now, I've been having some slight cognitive decline over the last 2 years, but nothing to write home about. But since the 20th . . . sweet mother of GOD what the hell is going on?!?!
First - memory. I'm forgetting everything. EVERYTHING. Things that I know inside and out - forgotten. I've done discharge instructions with patients literally THOUSANDS of times, but now I stop mid sentence not knowing what the hell I was just saying or how I should proceed. It's gone. I just stand there like an idiot stumbling over what I'm trying to say.
Second - concentration and focus. Yeah, totally not there. I get distracted easily. I just can't seem to focus or concentrate AT ALL.
Third - typing. Yep. Typing. Cami, what the hell are you talking about? Well, when I type I randomly leave letters out of words. For no reason. I don't know if my brain is moving too fast for my fingers to keep up or if I'm just literally forgetting letters. (I had to go back and reread this several times to make sure it made sense).
I know some of this is the disease itself - I've had some of these cognitive deficits already. But they haven't been to this extent. And I've declined so quickly.
Could it be the Zyprexa? I'm thinking yes. I emailed Dr. C about it and I'm guessing we'll be taking me off of it (which I'm perfectly fine with).
How stupid is all this???
Thursday, November 28, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
I'm back.
Four days in the hospital. I'm feeling better, thank God. I was started on Zyprexa, an atypical antipsychotic. It knocked the mania down in one dose (I was given the Zytis form in the hospital - fast acting and dissolves under the tongue). I'll be on this for around a month. Well, that's the goal at least. We're also holding my Wellbutrin (as antidepressants can escalate mania).
At some point I'll write more on this, though I won't be sharing everything. For several reasons. Most notably that it will be in my book and I don't want to give away all the goods ;)
So anyway, I'm back, I'll be getting back into writing, and I'm still awesome.
Boom.
At some point I'll write more on this, though I won't be sharing everything. For several reasons. Most notably that it will be in my book and I don't want to give away all the goods ;)
So anyway, I'm back, I'll be getting back into writing, and I'm still awesome.
Boom.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Hospital Time
My blog won't be updated for about a week as I'm going to the hospital this morning. I'm in a mixed episode that is getting worse and I don't feel that I am stable. My pdoc gave me an antipsychotic yesterday that I took once, and won't take again. I felt drugged and foggy and groggy. But it was to knock down the mania and if I won't take it, well . . .
I cycled so quickly yesterday it was scary. I'll write more on that later but it's the reason I decided to go to the hospital. As much as I DO NOT want to go, I need to be safe while I get through this. I'm going from wanting to die to almost full blown mania and then back again.
I'll write when I get back. Have a good week.
I'll see you on the flipside* . . .
. . . . *Boondock Saints ref. Just so you know.
I cycled so quickly yesterday it was scary. I'll write more on that later but it's the reason I decided to go to the hospital. As much as I DO NOT want to go, I need to be safe while I get through this. I'm going from wanting to die to almost full blown mania and then back again.
I'll write when I get back. Have a good week.
I'll see you on the flipside* . . .
. . . . *Boondock Saints ref. Just so you know.
Monday, February 18, 2013
So many things
There's so many things that I want to write, that I want to say. So many things going through my head right now. I need to get it all out, get it all in writing, but it's as if I don't have the energy. Or the will. Or both.
I've been through so much over the last 6 weeks. So many things I never thought I'd experience. And I'm tired. And drained. And lost.
I'm still trying to recover from the emotional backlash of my overdose, ER visit, and hospitalization. I'm hoping each day that the medication changes will start making a difference, that all of the changes I've made will start making a difference. It has to happen soon. It has to.
I'm still numb. Numb to everything. I still don't feel. I wouldn't even say I'm necessarily depressed right now. I'm too empty and numb to even feel that. I'm a blank void of nothing. A husk. I don't feel and I don't care. It's a horrible place to be. I just . . .I don't care.
I woke up this morning feeling depressed, tired, empty, and unmotivated. I didn't want to do a thing except lay on the floor or the couch and not exist. I wrestled with this. I should go to the gym, I should sew, or draw or clean. I beat myself up for feeling like I was. So I decided to do nothing. I felt like doing nothing and so that's what I did. Nothing. And I felt good about it. And I napped. And this evening I felt a little better. Not as down, a little more hopeful.
But sadly, that didn't last long. By dinner time the numbness was back. The same familiar feeling that I can't seem to shake. I've grown weary of it. I'm doing everything I can to counteract it. Everything I can think of to change my thinking and behavior. I'm doing everything right. This Friday, in fact, starts my first horse assisted psychotherapy session. I don't know what else to do.
I'm still staying positive, as best as I can. And even though this post may sound doom and gloom-ish, I need to vent about how I'm feeling. I know things will change. I know they will. I just need them to change soon. I can't stand not feeling. I can't stand not caring.
I've been through so much over the last 6 weeks. So many things I never thought I'd experience. And I'm tired. And drained. And lost.
I'm still trying to recover from the emotional backlash of my overdose, ER visit, and hospitalization. I'm hoping each day that the medication changes will start making a difference, that all of the changes I've made will start making a difference. It has to happen soon. It has to.
I'm still numb. Numb to everything. I still don't feel. I wouldn't even say I'm necessarily depressed right now. I'm too empty and numb to even feel that. I'm a blank void of nothing. A husk. I don't feel and I don't care. It's a horrible place to be. I just . . .I don't care.
I woke up this morning feeling depressed, tired, empty, and unmotivated. I didn't want to do a thing except lay on the floor or the couch and not exist. I wrestled with this. I should go to the gym, I should sew, or draw or clean. I beat myself up for feeling like I was. So I decided to do nothing. I felt like doing nothing and so that's what I did. Nothing. And I felt good about it. And I napped. And this evening I felt a little better. Not as down, a little more hopeful.
But sadly, that didn't last long. By dinner time the numbness was back. The same familiar feeling that I can't seem to shake. I've grown weary of it. I'm doing everything I can to counteract it. Everything I can think of to change my thinking and behavior. I'm doing everything right. This Friday, in fact, starts my first horse assisted psychotherapy session. I don't know what else to do.
I'm still staying positive, as best as I can. And even though this post may sound doom and gloom-ish, I need to vent about how I'm feeling. I know things will change. I know they will. I just need them to change soon. I can't stand not feeling. I can't stand not caring.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Been a bit
It has been a bit and a lot has happened since my last post. Most notably, I was hospitalized at an inpatient psych unit for suicidal ideation. I went voluntarily at the advice and recommendation of my psychiatrist and therapist. It was not an easy decision, and I spoke with them at length about it. And in the end, I went in.
I went in Sunday afternoon and was discharged Wednesday afternoon - I think my psych doc would have preferred another day or two, but I missed my son too much (they wouldn't let him visit). What was good about it was that Dr. C had his friend and trusted colleague Dr. S oversee my care while I was there (they both collaborated on it). It gave me a few days with no responsibilities and no stress.
Eventually I'll write more about all of this - I even journaled and took notes of people/behaviors there - but right now I'm still very exhausted. The last several weeks have completely drained me. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life.
In short, my meds were tweaked, I got a little bit of rest, I met some interesting people and had some good group therapy sessions. I'm still depressed - quite depressed - but I'm not having suicidal thoughts at all and no thoughts of self harm. It's still a long road ahead of me, but I'll get there (and hopefully my meds will start working soon).
More to come later.
I went in Sunday afternoon and was discharged Wednesday afternoon - I think my psych doc would have preferred another day or two, but I missed my son too much (they wouldn't let him visit). What was good about it was that Dr. C had his friend and trusted colleague Dr. S oversee my care while I was there (they both collaborated on it). It gave me a few days with no responsibilities and no stress.
Eventually I'll write more about all of this - I even journaled and took notes of people/behaviors there - but right now I'm still very exhausted. The last several weeks have completely drained me. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life.
In short, my meds were tweaked, I got a little bit of rest, I met some interesting people and had some good group therapy sessions. I'm still depressed - quite depressed - but I'm not having suicidal thoughts at all and no thoughts of self harm. It's still a long road ahead of me, but I'll get there (and hopefully my meds will start working soon).
More to come later.
Friday, February 8, 2013
I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore . . .
The last month has been exhausting, confusing. A cyclone of emotions
that pull and tear at me, stripping me down to a blank husk of nothing. I
don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. I don't even know
what I feel anymore. . .
An overdose, an ER visit, nearly shattering my hand by putting it through the stone tile of my fireplace . . . Things I never thought would happen, places I never thought I'd arrive at . . . And I'm scared and I'm confused. And I don't know what to do.
I'm trying not to catastrophize but I'm also trying not to minimize what's happened. I'm trying to stay positive and derail negative thoughts. And all of this is so tiring. And I'm tired of fighting. And when you've felt so bad and so out of control for so long (over a year now), it's hard to see things ever getting better.
And still I push on. There's nothing else I can do. Regardless of how tired I am or how hopeless I feel or how badly I want to throw in the towel . . . I have to push on - my hubby and son are depending on me - they need me to push on.
I take things minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. I have to stay in the moment or I risk losing everything. I'm pushing on in hopes of better times, of stability, and of actually being able to feel again.
An overdose, an ER visit, nearly shattering my hand by putting it through the stone tile of my fireplace . . . Things I never thought would happen, places I never thought I'd arrive at . . . And I'm scared and I'm confused. And I don't know what to do.
I'm trying not to catastrophize but I'm also trying not to minimize what's happened. I'm trying to stay positive and derail negative thoughts. And all of this is so tiring. And I'm tired of fighting. And when you've felt so bad and so out of control for so long (over a year now), it's hard to see things ever getting better.
And still I push on. There's nothing else I can do. Regardless of how tired I am or how hopeless I feel or how badly I want to throw in the towel . . . I have to push on - my hubby and son are depending on me - they need me to push on.
I take things minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. I have to stay in the moment or I risk losing everything. I'm pushing on in hopes of better times, of stability, and of actually being able to feel again.
Thursday, February 7, 2013
I don't even . . .
This first writing I wrote today. It explains yesterday a little, which was a VERY bad day. The section underneath, I had actually written yesterday morning but never published. I was going to write more to it but I wanted to shower before the dish network guys came over to install dish. And after my shower, that's when I lost it.
This part starts what I wrote yesterday morning and explains how I've been feeling.
It's amazing that I'm even writing. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like doing anything. I don't feel.
I don't feel. Hardly anything. Only emptiness, sorrow, hopelessness. I feel my depression. I feel the hurt and pain. I feel a hollow void. Nothingness. I'm flat. A shell. A husk. I'm no longer me. I don't care. I can't. I don't have enough in me to care.
Joy and happiness elude me. No contentment. No feelings of pride or warmth. No feelings of love. I look at my son, and I love him, with all my heart. But I don't feel it.
Do you know how FUCKING SHITTY IT IS TO NOT FEEL THAT WARMTH AND LOVE FOR YOUR OWN SON? YOUR OWN HUSBAND?
I doubt it.
And this is the hardest thing I've ever experienced. I feel so horrible for it. Because I love them both so much and they're the only reason I'm still alive. If I didn't have them, if I lost them, I would kill myself. No questions asked.
I won't use any trigger words - or at least I'll try not to.
Yesterday was very bad. I broke down completely - crying harder than I think I ever have, VERY bad thoughts about hurting myself and worse. Very ACTIVE thoughts. I put my fist through the stone tile of our outdoor fireplace - surprisingly, I didn't fracture anything.
Instead of doing more, I was smart for once. I called my therapist and then my husband. My hubby picked up our son from school, came home and took me to the ER. That was the first time EVER I've gone to the hospital for wanting to do more than hurt myself.
And it was demoralizing. Put in a room with only a bed and a blanket. Huge window on the door and no way to open it from the inside. They took all of my clothes and belongings except for my chapstick and phone - and I was only allowed to keep them as long as my hubby was there. The nurse had to pull everything out of the bathroom and stand in there with me if I had to pee. I had a guard watching me at all times - I had to be in his view constantly. And keep in mind - this is the ER at the hospital I work at (I'm an RN), and I know these people. That was the worst part.
The ER doc was a dick and you could tell that he couldn't give a shit about what was going on. He just had to do his intake, order labs and a urine, and get the psychologist down to see me. And the faster he could do that and get outta there, the better. The psychologist was very nice, understanding and straight forward. I liked her. She talked to me alone for awhile and then both me and my hubby together. We made a plan so that I didn't have to be hospitalized (I was refusing that anyway).
I'm home now, and I'm safe. I feel a little better. I took a Nuvigil this morning (my "happy" pill - my upper), and it's helping. I'm still depressed, I still feel like crap - but I'm better than yesterday. I was started on Prozac last week and hopefully that will help. My primary doc and I are adjusting my thyroid meds again as I am once again hypothyroid (which might be the explanation of this horrid downward spiral over the last month). So, we'll see.
This is just all so frustrating. I don't seem to be getting better and I know it takes time to get the meds right, and life factors right . . .but it's so frustrating. We've been trying for a year now and I'm not much better. Hopefully it will change.
As long as I'm alive, I have hope.
This part starts what I wrote yesterday morning and explains how I've been feeling.
It's amazing that I'm even writing. I don't feel like writing. I don't feel like doing anything. I don't feel.
I don't feel. Hardly anything. Only emptiness, sorrow, hopelessness. I feel my depression. I feel the hurt and pain. I feel a hollow void. Nothingness. I'm flat. A shell. A husk. I'm no longer me. I don't care. I can't. I don't have enough in me to care.
Joy and happiness elude me. No contentment. No feelings of pride or warmth. No feelings of love. I look at my son, and I love him, with all my heart. But I don't feel it.
Do you know how FUCKING SHITTY IT IS TO NOT FEEL THAT WARMTH AND LOVE FOR YOUR OWN SON? YOUR OWN HUSBAND?
I doubt it.
And this is the hardest thing I've ever experienced. I feel so horrible for it. Because I love them both so much and they're the only reason I'm still alive. If I didn't have them, if I lost them, I would kill myself. No questions asked.
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