Depression vs Unhappiness

I've been pretty shitty the past several days. Very shitty. Depressed, sobbing, struggling. I've been trying to figure things out. I like having shit figured out.

My first two weeks of ECT I went 3 times a week - Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. I started feeling better quickly. I was the poster child for how ECT should work. Then we switched to weekly. I had ECT on Monday. By Friday my mood was starting to slip, starting to drop. So I saw Dr. M the next Monday and told him about that. He doesn't want to increase the frequency of ECT treatments (the goal, after all, is to eventually space them out to monthly). He told me to call his office and make an appointment so we could adjust my meds.

That appointment was last Wednesday. We're increasing my lithium from 600mg to 900mg. I'm not optimistic that this will help at all - I've been as high as 1200mg without any added benefit. But we'll see I guess. He also told me that he doesn't believe I'll ever not need ECT. Meds historically haven't worked well for me and he thinks I'll always need to have ECT. Again, the goal is to get me to monthly treatments but he sees me staying weekly for the foreseeable future.

Then last Thursday night, as I was getting ready for bed, I realized I couldn't remember if I had taken my meds. See, I normally take my night meds around 8:30, and here it was 9:30 and I couldn't remember if I had taken them. Well, I couldn't take a dose at that time because I can't double up on my Seroquel. That's a bad idea for me.

Thursday night I didn't sleep. Maybe 3 hours? Which means I probably hadn't taken my meds (Seroquel knocks me out). So now here I am, having missed meds and not slept. And Friday was horrible. I spent the majority of it sobbing uncontrollably. I cut. And I cut deep. Deep enough it needed stitches (which I did not go get).

Saturday I worked and my mood was equally as bad. I hid. I didn't want to interact. I tried though. I forced myself to. My coworkers knew I was struggling and they rallied around me. Gave me hugs, words of encouragement, and checked on my patients for me when I was unable to do so (I spent a good hour hiding in the break room sobbing). I wanted to cut so bad, but I didn't. I folded paper cranes instead. On of the labor nurses cleaned my cut and put steri strips over it for me (kind of like stitches but it's really sticky tape).

Sunday I was still crap. J and I went to the gym (I really didn't want to, but I really fucking need to). His brother wanted to go bowling with us. I didn't go. I couldn't. I desperately didn't want to. It didn't sound fun and I didn't want to interact.

Today I had ECT and I talked about all of this with Dr. M. Asked him what more I could do. His response was classic: "Well you could stop cutting yourself for starters!" He said the cutting is probably related to trauma or unhappiness. I asked him, "So I have to be like Billy Crystal in City Slickers and find my happiness?" (I've mentioned that to M as well).

It got me thinking: how am I unhappy? What's making me unhappy? I did an inventory of symptoms:

- difficulty waking in the mornings
- increased appetite
- consistent weight gain
- no motivation to workout
- no motivation to clean the house
- not wanting to do things
- not caring about my appearance (I've been wearing hardly any makeup, haven't been doing my hair, wearing gym clothes)
- not wanting to interact with people
- feeling worthless
- feeling like things are pointless (why should I bother? nothing matters)
- feeling like life is too difficult, people would be better off without me (suicidal thoughts, can't do this anymore)
- not finding joy in things (doing things, my artwork, working with the kids at the riding center - I like spending time with the horses, but working with the kids isn't feeling rewarding like it used to)

All of that stuff right there? That's depression. Those are symptoms of depression. Now, last few days aside, overall my depressive symptoms have been better. Overall I feel a hell of a lot better than I have (because, to be perfectly honest, had I not started ECT when I did, I would have killed myself - I was planning it). So I'm better. I am.

I've been trying to figure out the last few days. Did I become exponentially worse because I missed a dose of Seroquel and didn't sleep? Can that really fuck me up that much?? Am I that sensitive?

And so then the cutting. And the uncontrollable sobbing. Is that unhappiness? Trauma? Depression? All of it?

Like, if I had taken my meds Thursday night like normal and slept, would I have been fine this past weekend?

And how fucking frustrating is that?? I don't sleep one night and I completely lose my shit.

The past few weeks have made me realize how much I truly need to take things a day at a time. How much I truly need to stay in the moment. I'm not going to have the answers for everything and I have to be okay with that.  I also do have to remember that I have bipolar disorder - a chronic, progressive illness - and that I will have days that are worse than others. That I will have times where I will lose my shit for seemingly no reason. And that sucks. But that's reality. I think another problem is I was secretly under the impression that I would have ECT, start feeling better, and then miraculously not need it anymore and be essentially "cured" of my symptoms. Bitch, you're bipolar. For life. Fucking accept and deal with it.

It also doesn't help that I think personality wise I tend to lean towards more melancholy. Always have. I need to focus on little joys. Keep forcing myself to interact and be upbeat - even when I don't feel it.

And I need to not cut.

Hey I'm at work!

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

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

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

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

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

And yet I am.

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

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

In Remembrance

No, this isn't about Paul Walker. That shit is annoying.

This post is for my dad. Thirteen years ago today he passed away at the young age of 43 from lung cancer. December 1, 2000. He was at MD Anderson in Houston, Texas, undergoing experimental chemotherapy. He had the most aggressive form of lung cancer and it had already metastasized to his vocal cords and brain when he was diagnosed. His battle with it lasted 6 short months.

I want to tell the story of my dad, my last memories of him. I don't know the proper timeline of events - I don't remember all of the details. And I want to do the story justice.

So I'll be writing about it off and on, and when I get a full story done, one that I'm happy with, I'll post it. My dad was an amazing man. He was my confidant and my champion. I was very much a daddy's girl and we put each other on a pedestal.

Dad, I love you and miss you. Thank you for watching over me, you're the best guardian angel a girl could have.