This really can't be as good as it gets

It's early - 6am - as I write this. I didn't sleep well and I've been up since 5. I've broken down sobbing once already, something I haven't done in probably 3 weeks. I don't know where I'm going with this post, I'm not sure what I'm going to get out.

Maybe some background:

It's been 2 weeks since my last ECT treatment (I go again on the 19th). The first couple of days after I felt pretty good, pretty "normal" (whatever that is). Then on Thursday the 8th I was manic. I started out hypomanic and was very giggly, fidgety, anxious, distractible, in therapy. But Thursday night . . . that's a whole other story. Hubs was very scared and was very close to taking me to the hospital. I was manic, plain and simple. He was texting my 2 best friends, asking what to do. Now, sadly, I don't have any more Xanax or Ativan that I can take to calm me down (I threw it all out 6 or 9 months ago as it was all at least a year past the expiration date). Hubs offered me Benadryl. Unbeknownst to him, I took an extra Seroquel (sorry I didn't tell you - I was kind of ashamed). It knocked me down enough that I could kind of sleep.

I remained hypomanic Friday through Monday, but it moved away from euphoria (I was crazy fucking euphoric that Thursday), and into the irritable kind. What does that look like? Racing thoughts, anxiety, panic attacks, hyper-irritability (I become a raging fucking bitch in seconds flat for no reason), and insomnia. Sounds fun, right?

Then Tuesday morning (this past Tuesday, 4 days ago) I woke up and I just knew. I knew my mood had shifted. The cloud of depression was over me again. I felt the familiar despair and hopelessness, but it was coupled with irritable hypomania. A mixed episode. Oh goody.

Mixed episodes are NOT fun. At all. They're also considered the most dangerous state to be in. Why? You have the depression, despair, and hopelessness coupled with impulsiveness. Not a good combo. Luckily, all I've done is cut.

I had therapy again this past Thursday (2 days ago) and M didn't even have to say a word to me to know something was very wrong. He made it abundantly clear that I need to talk to Dr. M about all of this when I see him for ECT on Monday.

But that terrifies me.

I mean, I know I need to let my psychiatrist know that hey: I spent a week hypomanic with a very scary-but-thankfully-short-lived manic day and now I have feelings of depression again. Of course he needs to know that. But what scares me is what he might say . . .

See, I'm worried that this is my new norm. That this is as good as it gets for me. I'm worried that Dr. M is going to tell me that I need more therapy, I need more DBT to learn how to better manage my moods. That there's nothing more he can do.

That really. Fucking. Terrifies me.

Because here's the thing: I am definitely way better than I was before starting ECT. I feel an improvement. People have pointed out that I seem better. I know it's helping. I don't want him to look at my symptoms and say, "well, it's obvious the ECT isn't helping, so we might as well stop." If it wasn't helping, like I know it is, I would be dead right now. That's the truth. It's a fucking shitty truth, but it's the truth. That's how I know it's helping. I'M FUCKING ALIVE, PEOPLE.

And here's the thing with therapy - I'm really kind of an expert now at using CBT and DBT techniques to help manage my mood. How do I know? I haven't been hospitalized in over a year. I'm functioning better than I was a year ago. Two years ago. Three years ago. And people have commented to this. I feel like I'm better in control. My fucking therapist has told me he sees a huge improvement in me.

I'M DOING EVERYTHING RIGHT.

I really, actually am.

And I'm so scared that I'm going to talk to Dr. M on Monday and he's going to wash his hands of me and I'm going to be left scrambling.

So then I overthink things and I think, wait - what if this is as good as it gets for me. That my stupid fucking bipolar truly is this difficult to manage and I need to work on accepting this so I can move on and learn to even better manage my symptoms. . .

But I don't want to settle. What if I give in and accept this as my lot in life when I could truly be doing so much better? I had a little over a week where I was enjoying myself. Where I felt happy. And I think I deserve to feel happy. I deserve more than just trying to make it through the day.

I really, truly, fucking hate bipolar disorder.

Bit of a conundrum

Yes. I'm facing a conundrum.

Remember how my hope went *poof*? Well. I decided to try something. See, I'm not all that hopeful that increasing my seroquel is going to do anything for the depression. I'm not hopeful at all, actually.

So I did something.

Last night I skipped taking my seroquel.

Yep. I didn't take it. And I didn't sleep. Maybe 3 hours? Maybe? And this morning I was wide awake and felt deliciously hypomanic. Well, not too high actually - just good. Awake, good, even.

And then I got tremors - like, bad. And some anxiety.

We went to my mom's house this morning to do Christmas there as I work tomorrow (xmas). My brother and his family was there, hubby's mom and brother, and it was okay.

We were there for 2 hours and towards the end my mood was starting to plummet. Probably a combo of lack of sleep and extended family time. Right?

I've been working on my book this afternoon, actually accomplishing something, getting a little more direction with it.

My mood right now is weird. I'm a little anxious and feel . . . weird. Just, weird. I feel a little down, empty, tired, dizzy almost, lightheaded at times, and there's some irritability creeping in. The depression isn't as pressing as it normally is, which is nice, but it's certainly not gone. But I have some of the underlying hypomania.

My conundrum: do I skip the seroquel again and see what happens? See if I get more hypo? Or do I take it as prescribed, like a good girl, and hope that 600mg lifts my depression?

I work tomorrow, so if I skip the seroquel again, and get more hypo . . . well, it could be decidedly not good. But I have klonopin in my purse to knock me down.

I keep thinking that I should be good, I should be compliant and take my meds as prescribed. I mean, Mary told me not to stop the seroquel (or any med on my own). And I know better. I know better than to just to stop taking a med. Especially cold turkey. When I skipped doses of geodon I had rebound depression - bad. Would that happen with missing another dose or 2 of seroquel? Or hypomania? Or mixed?

I want to miss another dose, but I'll admit - I'm scared to.

I was originally put on an antipsychotic for mania - I was hospitalized a year ago November for that. And, I really haven't had mania since then (well, I've had some of the irritable hypomania sporadically, or an hour or two of slightly euphoric mania). But for the most part? Nothing. Depression.

I had a brief 2 month span this past summer where I felt pretty stable. Then boom - horrid depression again.

So what do I do? Stop seroquel on my own against the advice of my psych doc (and therapist)? Or keep taking it and hope against hope that the increased dose helps?

Gaaaaaaahhhhh!!! I hate this! Why can't shit just work?

Fuck me.

So I want to kill myself . . .

I really do. . . at times.

Like yesterday. Yesterday was bad. Yesterday I wanted to slit my wrists and watch the blood flow. Watch the blood flow and feel myself weakening as I slip into darkness.

But I didn't. You know why?

Because deep down I know that I don't truly want to die. What I want is for the pain to stop. For my constant up and down (mostly down) to stop.

Here's a story:

Friday night I forgot to take my meds. I usually take them around 8-8:30. Well, I didn't. But when I went to bed at 10, I didn't realize I hadn't taken them because I'm so used to taking them at that time. I've been late taking my seroquel before and I typically have insomnia, tremors, nausea, night sweats, and racing thoughts until I take it (even if I'm 2 hours late taking it I have these symptoms). Friday night I had insomnia - I only got around 3-4 hours of sleep. But I had no other symptoms until 6am - I didn't figure out until then that I had forgot my meds (after having the other symptoms, I counted my seroquel and yep - forgot it).

Of course I worked Saturday. All morning I rapid cycled. I'd have depression with racing thoughts, poor concentration, and irritability. Then my mood would lift and I'd feel okay, I'd giggle a little, and become very talkative. Then my mood would plummet and be mixed again.

This happened until around 3. At 3 I became hypomanic. Euphoric hypomanic. I felt amazing. I laughed so much. I laughed at everything and nothing. I talked rapidly and became highly excitable. I had racing thoughts. I said inappropriate things. I was loud, and at times obnoxious. I cussed. A lot. In my hailstorm of activity and loudness and giddiness, I told numerous people that I was bipolar and didn't take my meds (people didn't need to know that).

But I felt amazing. Like I could conquer the world.

When I got home from work I was still giggling and talkative, but my lack of sleep was starting to catch up to me (in retrospect, this was probably good - if I had gone higher, or if it lasted longer, I may have needed to be hospitalized).

I had a great day. A wonderful, amazing, and happy day. Because I didn't take my meds. So I rationalized that maybe I should stop my meds. At least the seroquel. Now, seeing how my judgement was probably clouded, I asked my hubby and my best friend if I should take my meds. They both said yes, take your damn meds. Don't be a noncompliant idiot (my friend's words).

So Saturday night I took my meds like a good girl. I went to bed around 10. Hubby came to bed around midnight to find me unable to sleep, plagued by racing thoughts. My whole body hurt because I was so tired and my mind was going so fast. He had me take a benadryl to try and help me fall asleep, and an hour after I was able to sleep. I slept until 9am (I'm usually up by 7).

I woke up knowing something was wrong. Knowing something was off. Knowing that it was going to be a bad day.

I awoke depressed. I tried to hide and ignore it. I tried all day to hide and ignore it. How could I possibly feel so bad after having a day where I felt so good??

Throughout the day I felt increasingly more depressed. My thoughts became darker. I wanted to cut. I needed to cut - but I didn't. I tried to keep my anger in check, even as it swelled and threatened to consume me. I didn't want to be around anyone - including hubby and son. I didn't want to interact with anyone - including texting friends.

I thought more about slitting my wrists.

After putting my son to bed I broke down sobbing. I couldn't take it anymore. It was the ugly cry where your snot gets everywhere and was filled with utter despair and hopelessness.

I can't go on like this.

I told hubby that. I can't. I can't do this anymore. It's too hard. It's not fair. How can anyone possibly think that I can keep this up??

Over the past 3.5 weeks I've had suicidal ideation on more days than not. There have been 3 instances where I probably should have gone to the hospital (last night, honestly, was one of them - I really wanted to slit my wrists and I was feeling impulsive). I'm doing everything right. My therapist pointed that out as well - I'm doing everything I'm supposed to be doing. All the CBT stuff I've learned in therapy - I'm applying it. I want to isolate - I'm forcing myself to interact. I'm staying busy rather than just staring at the ceiling or sleeping (which is what I want to do).

And yet I continue to get worse.

I see my psychiatrist on Wednesday. I'm guessing she'll increase my seroquel again. To either 500 or 600mg. Then probably another month of "let's wait and see if this helps at all". I'll be curious to see what she has to say about the suicidal ideation (my therapist was a little annoyed that I didn't call her office to let her know about the suicidal thoughts - well, I don't know her well and I didn't want to be told to go to the hospital; I thought I could handle it on my own).

Something has to change. It has to because I truly can't keep doing this. I'm tired. I'm not hopeful (why should I be? Nothing has worked so far).

I don't understand why I have to exist. Can't I just disappear until something manages my depression? Until I feel better? Why can't I do that?

Oy vey

So here's some fun stuff. On Wednesday I had therapy. My therapy sessions are an hour long. Except for Wednesday. On Wednesday my therapy session was an hour and a half. With the last 20 minutes involving my psychiatrist.

Why?

So I wouldn't be hospitalized. I really didn't want to be hospitalized. I begged, through tears, to my therapist not to send me. That I could keep myself safe, that my hubby would keep me safe and that I couldn't hurt myself because it would only hurt my hubby and son as well.

I was having pretty strong suicidal ideation. To the point where, if I didn't have my hubby and son, I would have killed myself. There was no doubt in my mind. And my therapist knew this. But we put a safety plan in place and it was understood that if I started feeling worse I would admit myself.

My psychiatrist wants me to up my dose of Depakote from 1000mg to 2000mg - he doesn't think it's the cause of my suicidal ideation. Last night I went to 1500mg and this morning I paid for it with unrelenting grogginess. After 2 more nights I'll increase to 2000mg.

My moods have been . . . not good. Yesterday I had a panic attack during our charge nurse meeting. As in tapping feet/shaking/rocking panic attack. I did my best to stay unnoticed. That didn't happen. After the meeting one of the nurses approached my manager and pointed it out to her. I had to take a Xanax (well, 0.25mg, a quarter of a Xanax) to calm down and then give my manager an update on my mental status and explain what happened. Not a good way to start the day. And my day ended with a crash c-section that resulted in a bad outcome. Only 2 months since my last bad outcome.

I did, however, get some good news today. I have an appointment at Mass General on Monday, June 9th. My psychiatrist has been wanting to send me there for a year and a half and now I actually have an appointment - and I won't even have to miss any work. Fancy that!

I had gotten a second opinion from a med specialist 2 weeks ago, but Dr. C still wants me to go - always a good idea to have a backup plan in place (plus, I'm seeing the bipolar specialists in the mood clinic there).

Good things and bad things. Hopefully now there will start to be more good things. I like good things.

Changes

Because we need to shake shit up.

My changes are coming in the form of medication changes. Major ones. Namely, stopping lithium, stopping Wellbutrin, decreasing Lamictal by half, and adding Depakote. All pretty much at the same time. It's a possible recipe for disaster.

Why the changes?

Because I'm treatment resistant. Because my previous combo wasn't working. And because my psychiatrist sent me to a medication specialist because he no longer knows what to do with me. Said specialist thinks that I'm toxic on my lithium and made all of the above recommendations. So we'll try it out and see what happens. I'm nervous as my body doesn't seem to handle med changes very well. And all these changes at once . . . scares me.

The night before last, my first night taking Depakote, I didn't sleep. Well, maybe I got 1-2 hours. Yesterday I was irritable, angry, and depressed. I cried more times than I care to admit. Today I'm depressed yet apathetic. I can't focus. I don't care if I do anything or not. All I'd really like to do, honestly, is not exist. I don't want to die, really, just not exist.

Makes no sense, I know.

It's just that everything that used to give me pleasure doesn't anymore. My creative side - which has always been hugely important - is gone. Completely gone. Playing with my son is a chore - one I would rather avoid. And sex? Seems we're back to the no desire, no arousal, no orgasm phase. At work, at my job that I love, I find myself annoyed and irritable. I find it difficult to relate to or bond with my patients. I don't want to go out with friends.

I want to not exist.

Aside from being depressed, I'm unhappy. I want to be hypomanic. If I could just be hypomanic - controlled hypomanic - well, I don't even know. I'd want to be that way all the time. But that's not feasible or safe.

I need a reprieve from how I've been feeling for the last 2.5 years (and most notably since November). Hopefully this med change will be what I need. Hopefully it will stabilize me. Hopefully it won't make things worse. Time will tell.

Holy Shit Y'all

Let me catch you up to speed.

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

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

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

Fan-fucking-tastic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Run on sentences FTW.

Somebody fucking shoot me.

Acceptance

I couldn't sleep last night. My mind was racing, filled with anything and everything. It kept coming back to work or what I was going to tell Dr. C next week. Round and round it went so that even when I did sleep, my mind was racing in my dreams.

It was exhausting.

An one point, around 1am, I had almost a mini epiphany. I even got out of bed to jot it down in my journal so I wouldn't forget the thought.

And here it is:

I have yet to accept that I have bipolar disorder. I know I have it, don't get me wrong, but I haven't truly accepted that fact yet. All I'm doing is trying to control an uncontrollable illness. To make neat and orderly what must stay in chaos. To make black and white what is truly every shade of grey known to man.

I haven't accepted this.

Here's the thing - in order to live with bipolar disorder one must practice flexibility and forgiveness. Forgiveness of one's self. I suck at this. I'm flexible with most everything except bipolar disorder. In my mind, I have to do everything perfectly - including controlling the symptoms. I don't forgive myself when things aren't "perfect". If I have a bad day, I've failed. If I've had a string of bad days and I have a good one - I've failed. How does that even make sense??

My view is this: I'm either stable or sick, good or bad, up or down. There is no in-between. So when my mood fluctuates, when it changes or cycles (which moods do), it doesn't fit into my narrow view of what things "should" be. If I'm sick, I should just be sick and not have stable days in-between. If I'm stable, I should just be stable and not have bad days in-between.

This is a highly inaccurate view of bipolar disorder (and of my whole damn world).

Because you know what? Moods vary. Moods change. They fluctuate day to day. I'm going to have a string of really bad days followed by some good ones - and that's okay. I'm going to be stable for awhile and then go manic for a day or two - and that's okay. It's going to happen - that's the nature of bipolar disorder.  I'll never stop it from happening - my mood episodes will come whether I want them to or not, and I can't change, predict, or control that.

So I need to accept that. I need to accept that I have bipolar disorder and that I don't have to be perfect. That this will never be perfect. That my moods may change drastically in the course of a day and I might as well just enjoy the ride.

The sooner I accept this, the sooner I can be flexible and forgive myself, the sooner I can heal and move on.

And I don't have to be perfect at this, either.

Fuck you, self

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

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

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

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

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

And I had bad thoughts.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What. The fuck. Do I do?

Therapy and other stuff

I have a feeling this post is going to turn out more stream-of-consciousness than anything else. And I'm fine with that. This shit's for me anyway.

I had therapy this morning and it was a great session. I talked a lot about work (which surprised M as it's a subject I usually steer clear of), my mood swings as of late, sexual dysfunction and whatnot.

There's a few things I'm trying to figure out right now. First and foremost, my recent mood swings. I had some days where I've been downright depressed, where I've had irrational anger and irritability, or, on rare instances, where I've had fleeting moments of hypomania. The hypomania lasts around 30-60 minutes and is punctuated by racing thoughts, rapid speech, and inappropriate speech. In between this I'm usually okay. Typically down and withdrawn, but okay.

I'm trying to figure out why I've had this spike in emotional lability. At first I was thinking hormones (I never know when my "menstrual cycle" would be as I have no uterus). But it's been roughly 2 weeks of this now, more markedly the last week. So I'm not so sure this is it.

My other theory is work. Namely, the added stress of being back at work. I've been back for 3 weeks now and it's exhausting. The stress and drain I feel with it might be causing the cycling (which stress can do for us bipolars). And this stress is something that, sadly, I can do nothing about. I can do relaxation exercises, take hot baths, drink tea, whatever, but that doesn't remove the problem.

Now, about work . . . people have noticed a change in me. Several have remarked about how "quiet" I've become. Or how "tired" I always look. And I am quiet. I am tired. At work I've become more withdrawn. I tend to do okay with patients, just not with coworkers. If a conversation lasts longer than a couple of minutes I start to shut down. I can't handle it - I simply get overwhelmed and can't cope. And I hate that feeling. And people notice. And comment. And wonder if I'm really okay.

Work drains me. By 2 or 3 I'm pretty much done. I'm in shut down mode. My processing slows, I become more withdrawn, I can't concentrate or focus or cope with problems. People notice this too. And ask if I'm okay. I don't want people to ask if I'm okay. I don't want people to notice.

I've been doing some reading in bipolar magazines and on forums and the fatigue with work and with stress of work causing symptoms is pretty common. So at least I know I'm not alone. I guess. Go me.

I wish I knew why work tires me so much. I wish I knew why I find it so overwhelming and difficult to cope with. I want to know the what, why, and how of it. Why does stress trigger mood episodes? Exactly what the hell is going on inside my brain?

I'll probably never know the answers to those questions.

And while I'm writing, let's talk about the whole "I don't know who I am" bullshit. I know who I am. On some fundamental level, I know who I am. I still have the same sense of humor, the same loves and other "same" shit. But I have changed. I'm different and I am having to find and reinvent myself.

I don't like the process.

I find that overall I'm more down. Overall I'm more irritable and easily annoyed. I'm hoping this goes away because I don't like myself for it. It takes everything I've got not to beat myself up over it, too (something I'm brilliant at doing). Hopefully with time it will subside. But in the meantime it's quite bothersome.

My sex life is also bothersome. Or lack there of, I should say. No desire, no arousal, no orgasm. I got nothing. I might as well be watching cacti grow. I know it's a direct result of the geodon but I can't go off it now - I'm too terrified of what would happen.

But I want to actually enjoy sex. I'd like to actually have a sex life. Typically, sexual dysfunction is a deal breaker. But, I'm going to give it time in hopes of my body "growing out of" this whole sexual dysfunction phase. I don't think time is going to make one difference but hey - what else can I do? I plan on talking with Dr. C in April about it (that'll give me about 3.5 months on the medication) and see what he thinks. Originally the antipsychotic was going to be a temporary thing - maybe it still can be.

I guess that's all. For now at least. I have a headache and it's hard to concentrate on a computer screen when your eyes want to jump out of your skull.

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.

I'm weird.

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

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

Here's what this weird is:

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

Being stable is boring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Back to work . . .

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

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

And so I am.

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

This is where I had my disturbing revelation.

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

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

I also realized this: I'm still sick.

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

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

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

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

I'm worried and a little bit scared.

The Obligatory New Year's Post

Happy New Year, blah blah blah.

I typically don't do new year's resolutions. Planning something on this day doesn't make it any more likely that you'll succeed than if you planned it on any other day. It's a day to make empty promises to yourself to make you feel better about yourself.

So let's get this show on the road. Here are my New Year's Lies To Myself:
1. I will not be funny.
2. I will not get better.
3. I will not shovel a shit ton of manure.

I think 3 is a respectable number of lies. Golly, I hope I live up to them!! (that is sarcastic font by the way. Pretty snazzy, yeah? You're welcome.)

In other news, the Geodon seems to be reaching more therapeutic levels. I'm feeling better, not as much irritability or anger. Thank the baby DeJesus!! My sleeping is also starting to mellow out - not as much grogginess.

Yesterday I spent the day in Estes Park with my two favorite people (hubby and son - though I would've taken Tom Hiddleston . . .). I was calm, peaceful, and happy for the most part. I had a few moments where I could have lost my cool, but I kept it under wraps. Go me! *high fives self*

Driving home I did get a little hypo manic - racing thoughts, pressured speech, slight irritability. I had this idea for a painting of a wolf barfing out ravens. Hundreds of ravens. No, I don't know why - my brain is stupid. But there was this urgency in needing to get this painting done. Like, yesterday. Fuck everything I have to paint!! But after we got home I calmed down and the painting idea seemed a bit dumb. I had no desire to paint it. I'm sure if I remained hypo I would have stayed up however late necessary to finish it though.

Today I've been stable as well. Not as groggy this morning. My son and hubby wanted to teach me how to play Minecraft. Now, let me start by saying I don't play video games. My days of video games died out with the first playstation. I just don't play. So now we have my hubby and 6 year old trying to teach me how to use a controller with like 30 buttons. I don't even think I'm exaggerating.

I probably am.

But it feels like 30 buttons. That's the point. That, and I don't play video games. And Minecraft is boring (I've watched them play for a little bit before). But oh well, let's play.

No.

Not only no, but hell no.

I managed about 5 minutes of play before I felt like my whole world was going to crash down around me. Literally. I was instantly overwhelmed and anxious and felt like crying and hiding and giving up on life.

With this, I'm not exaggerating. What the fuck, self? Seriously? Seriously?? How fucking stupid is that? Here, have a controller. Noooooooooo! *runs screaming in other direction, sobs uncontrollably*   

I handed the controller to J and told them that I'd watch. It took me a half an hour to fully calm down. And this is why we can't have nice things.

That last bit didn't make sense, but I don't really care.

So I still get overwhelmed easily it seems. Which makes me worry for work. I'm taking an extra week off at the "suggestion" of J and my therapist. Neither of them feel that I'm ready to go back to work and that if I do, I'll end up sick again. Which is probably true. But pride people. I has it, and I hate missing yet another week of work.

But a controller to an Xbox 360 almost made me lose my shit. So I see their point.

Well played, brain. Well played.

A rant, of sorts

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

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

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

I felt like myself.

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

And it didn't last.

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

I had to leave.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No. It didn't.

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

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

And so the REALLY annoying thing is . . .

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

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

Except that I don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Every. Fucking. Day.

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

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

Nothing. That's what.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the annoying thing is . . .

. . . I need to write and I want to write but I want to sleep to escape my conflicting thoughts, my racing mind.

I have so many thoughts, so many that won't go away. They hang on, tenacious bastards that they are. They race around and they don't stop and I want them to stop but they don't and I'm so tired of it.

And so I need to write and I want to write but I need to sleep to escape my own mind. Because I can't concentrate because round and round my thoughts tumble and bounce and go.

And it's annoying, and so I'll sleep. I'll write tomorrow. Maybe the thoughts will calm themselves.

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 should be in bed . . .

I should be, but I'm not. I'm farting around on the computer until I get tired. My mind is racing but I am starting to get drowsy now.

Good.

I have an appointment with Dr. C tomorrow. I'm most definitely mixed again. And my hypomania is getting a bit out of hand. And by "a bit out of hand" I mean I almost lost it tonight. Almost uncontrolled hypo. At work. Yay.

I was hilarious, I really was. And that's the problem - making people laugh in that state just elevates me further. Which is not good. I'm not going to go into detail, not right now. Mainly because I actually am getting a little sleepy and so I want to take advantage of that.

I'm nervous about my appointment. I know Dr. C will want another antipsychotic. And I don't want another antipsychotic. Too many side effects. I'm going to talk to him about a drug holiday - which I'm sure will go over great since I would have about a 90% chance of going psychotic if I did that.

I still want to though. Because I'm an idiot. Apparently.

I'll write more later. I'm going to try to sleep, if my mind will let me.

Where am I now?

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

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

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

Two weeks of steady cognitive decline.

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

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

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

But that's not like me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Please . . .