Stupid

I had a great therapy session yesterday, I really did. Everything that was in my last blog post? We talked about that.

He pointed out that I still haven't completely accepted my diagnosis. I mean, I've accepted it, I truly believe I have bipolar disorder, but I haven't fully accepted everything that that entails. For example, even when I'm stable - reeeeeally stable - I can still have wide, wild mood swings for no reason at all. That's just part of bipolar disorder. That truly, for the rest of my life, I have to be hyper vigilant of my moods. I'll have to always monitor my moods, just like a diabetic monitors their blood sugar. There's no real way around it.

I hate that. Like, I really hate that. I wanted to have ECT and just be . . . okay. Normal. But that's just not the case. And it's super fucking frustrating. I don't want to deal with it anymore. I don't want to deal with bipolar disorder anymore.

Depressive Symptoms Coming Back

Just got back from a week long vacation to California.

We spent a couple days in Orange County visiting my family. We stayed with my Grandma (on my dad's side) and spent time with my aunts and uncle. It's always great seeing them but it was taxing. Interacting with them really took it out of me - more so than I thought it was going to.

Then we headed to San Diego for Comic Con and the zoo. We spend 5 days there, stayed in a little studio apartment. And I didn't handle it as well as I wanted to.

What was going on, you ask?

I've been having some depressive symptoms coming back. Getting overwhelmed easily, turning into a horrid rage monster at the slightest provocation, having intense feelings of despair wash over me for seemingly no reason, wanting/needing to cut, suicidal thoughts. . .

Let me give you some examples:
 
     - We're at comic con, waiting in a line. The line starts to move forward but the person in front of us lags and isn't moving forward right away. My blood boils, fists clench, teeth grind. It takes every ounce of self control not to shove the person and tell them to MOVE THE FUCK FORWARD ALREADY!! ARE YOU THAT FUCKING STUPID??? CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT THE FUCKING LIKE IS MOVING?? FUCKING MOVE!!!!!!!!! I shake, I take deep breaths, I try to think of calming things and then suddenly I feel like crying because everything is too much to handle. Everything is too hard and too overwhelming.

     - We get home yesterday and hubbs and I have sex. And it was good. And we're snuggling after and I get flooded with despair. Life really has no meaning. I spend every day fighting my distorted thoughts and fighting my feelings and it's not worth it. It's not going to get better. I need to cut. I need to feel a blade slicing through my skin. That's easier than dealing with this. I start to tear up, start to cry, and I know I'm going to lose my shit and I DO NOT want to lose my shit because if I do I won't be able to stop the tears and I KNOW I'll end up cutting. So I talk to hubbs and somehow - don't ask me how - I manage to not lose my shit. I push on and we go shopping and have dinner and watch some tv, but the whole time I'm still struggling with feelings of despair.

     - Today I had ECT (would have normally had it on Monday but was in California). I would prefer to have ECT on Mondays because I know my mom can pick me up and I have Mondays off. So I told the nurse that I would need to have ECT next Monday, not Wednesday. I'm waking up, getting my shoes on and whatnot and she hands me my discharge paper which has my next appointment on it. Which is for a week from Monday (meaning a week and a half between sessions). I guess my expression gave away what I was feeling because she asked what was wrong. I told her I didn't feel comfortable waiting that long (but Dr. M doesn't want me in earlier than a week). It felt like my world was crashing down around me. Like I couldn't possibly cope, I can't possibly handle this. I'm already struggling and now I have to wait a week and a half. I nearly broke down sobbing.

Scenarios like those? They happen a lot. A lot. Several times a day, every day. For the most, part I can keep them under wraps, these stupid fucking mood swings (and by under wraps I mean I haven't attacked anyone, screamed at anyone, curled myself into a little ball and rocked myself while mumbling, break down sobbing uncontrollably, or cut myself). But I come close. Scarily close. And even though I don't "officially" lose my shit, I'm still dealing with these feelings. I'm still struggling to manage them.

I keep reminding myself that I'm doing way better than before I started ECT. Way better (considering I was planning on killing myself if I wasn't approved for it or if it didn't help - scary, but true). I spend more time feeling "okay" than I do feeling like shit - and that's good. (Though I wish I spent more time feeling happy).

And again - take things a day at a time, a moment at a time. I also think I need to lower my expectations. It's just so frustrating.

Frustrated

Well. I have 6 ECT treatments under my belt. And overall, I'm feeling better. Hubbs has noticed a positive change. Yaaaaaay.

But I'm fucking frustrated. Why? I seem to have slipped into a mixed state. Meaning? I'm hyperirritable. I'm a cranky-ass bitch. And I feel like I may snap - either go off or break down, I'm not sure which. This is a shitty feeling to have - especially after starting to feel better.

I'm trying to keep things in perspective.  First and foremost - you were close to killing yourself. ANY reprieve from feeling that shitty is to be cherished. Secondly, the majority of your days over the past 2 weeks were an improvement over where you had been.

I don't know what it is, really . . . .

I've been feeling better. I want to go do things. I want to start working out again, get in shape, eat healthier. I want to do more things with my family, participate in life again, go back to work. I'm excited to do this stuff . . .

And then this weekend hits. And my mood is crap. I'm irritable, bitchy. And today . . . ugh. The depression is trying to weasel its way back in. The despair. Everything is trying to come back. I'm on pinterest and see a post about cutting . . . I feel the draw, it's a trigger. Why? Why is it such a trigger? I'm feeling better . . .

I'm scared. I realize, I must be scared. I've struggled for so long, I don't know how to not struggle. I don't know how to not be depressed. And I realize, I don't want to struggle anymore - I don't want to have bad days. I think I equate bad days with failure. (God forbid I fail).

Again I have to remind myself that I have a chronic, lifelong, illness and that I get to battle my brain and emotions every. Single. Day.

And I don't fucking want to. I want the ECT to work and be done with it. I don't want to have to struggle every day. I just want to be fine. Yeah, I know: whoa is me, life is unfair. Stop with the pity party, right?

Well fuck you.

Thank  God I have therapy on Thursday.. Fuck.

New pdoc?

I'm planning on switching pdocs. I was a bit displeased with mine at my last appointment.

(To refresh your memory, she told me that meds won't work on me and that sometimes people have a black cloud over them and are suicidal all the time and you just have to get used to it)

That rubbed me the wrong way. And by "rubbed me the wrong way", I mean pissed me off, had me sobbing, and stole away any hope I still had left of managing my depression. I couldn't believe she told me that. I mean, even if she was thinking that she shouldn't have told me that. Not when I'm depressed, suicidal, and losing hope on my own.

Not the best thing to say.

Hubby and a couple of my friends have told me to find another pdoc. That what she said was unacceptable. That it seems she's throwing in the towel. Meds won't work on you.

I am torn though. I keep thinking, what if this is all me? What if meds won't work for the depression and that I do just need to do more trauma work? What if this is a situational type of depression, that I have to buckle down and plow through and it's all on me?

What if?

What if I'm changing pdocs because I basically didn't like what she had to say? Maybe changing pdocs won't help anything. Maybe the new one will say the same thing. Maybe I'm just chasing meds, looking for the easy way out.

I look back at myself over the last 3 years, trying to see patterns, trying to see what I'm doing right and what I could improve on. I'm trying to be open and bluntly honest with myself. I need to be if I'm going to get stable.

One thing Ive noticed (and I picked up on this about a year and a half ago) is that once I start to get better I'll be better for a couple of months and then relapse. I get depressed again. And a year and a half ago M (therapist) and I discussed this. We talked at length my "not wanting" to get better. We worked through it, we found and worked through a few triggers, and having me identify this flaw within myself had curbed that tendency to self sabotage.

And I look back and I see no self sabotage for my mania (and hospitalization) last November, no self sabotage for my suicidal depression (and hospitalization), last December, and no self sabotage for my suicidal depression (and hospitalization), last May. I find no trigger, no form of self sabotage - it just happened.

July and August this year I was starting to become more stable. In October I started to slide, by November I was down and getting worse, and December has been horrid. I know I had one trigger: a piece of Al-Anon literature I read on forgiveness. It gave me icky feels. I worked through these feels in Al-Anon, in therapy, and with my hubby. I worked through them. I laid them to rest.

Now, knowing that was a trigger, I was doing all the proper things to counter the emotional response. I talked about it, I journaled my feelings and thoughts, I countered my negative thoughts, I didn't catastrophize, I did everything right.

I worked through it. I felt better about it, and felt that I had nothing more to say on the matter.

Several weeks later is when I really started to spiral. I did all of my CBT stuff that I've learned about, I talked to hubby and in therapy. I didn't let myself isolate - I forced interaction. Again, doing everything right.

So what the hell is going on?? Did I have a PTSD trigger that threw me into a bipolar mood episode? Is this just PTSD? Is this just a bipolar shift with no real trigger? Does it really matter?

Because here in lies the rub: I'm doing all my CBT things, I'm trying to stay present, stay in the moment, take it day by day (sometimes moment by moment), counter my errors of thinking, not isolate, trying to "fake it till I make it" . . . all the things I should be doing.

But they're not helping.

They should be helping. If this was all me, all PTSD, all a trigger, then this shit should be working. And it's not. M pointed out that that one Sunday at work where I was crap and laid on the floor for 2 hours because I was suicidal and didn't know what else to do was most definitely not a trauma issue - it was most definitely a chemical imbalance issue.

If all my behavioral therapies are not working that would lead to a chemical problem, right? So meds, right?

But my pdoc won't prescribe me anything else because she believes this depression is all trauma, all in my head. That if I do more trauma work I'll be fine.

I don't even know what to talk about trauma wise anymore. I really don't. We've gone over my abusive relationship and rape. We've gone over my dad's death. We've gone over stuff with my (alcoholic) mom several times. I don't what else to say on these matters. I have no idea. I don't even know what to say in Al-Anon anymore (I've been silent the last three sessions cause I have nothing to add).

So what more trauma work do I need to do??

There's only one area I see where I need more work: fake it till I make it. I've been faltering in this area. Why? Because it's hard to pretend to be positive, to be okay, to be well, to be not depressed. It takes so much energy and it's so much easier to give into the depression. It's better for me to fake it, it is. But I've been so tired lately, the past few weeks, that it's gotten harder. It's easier to give in. To not fight. See, part of me wants to give up. I'm tired of fighting my moods everyday. I'm tired of the knowledge that I'll do this for the rest of my life. It's too much to handle and so I'm slacking on forcing myself to seem okay (even when - especially when) I'm completely broken on the inside.

What the fuck do I do? Change pdocs I guess, see what the new one has to offer. I don't know. I don't even know. This is all very frustrating as fuck.

Also? I've noticed that since I've been on 600mg of seroquel my cognition is suffering. I forget letters in words or add extra letters, it's taking longer for me to think things through, to respond. Joy.

Still feeling depressed

Yep. I'm still having depressive feels. Last Sunday was particularly bad and I broke down sobbing uncontrollably.

I've had a few "good" days this week ("good" meaning that I wasn't "badly" depressed - maybe just meh, or down). I've been trying to keep everything in perspective and we reiterated that in therapy this week.

Frustrated though.

Every day, even my "good" days, I struggle against my thoughts. Every day I constantly feel like I don't want to exist. That I want to curl in a ball and not exist. Every day I have these feelings and every day I fight these feelings.

Even though I'm stable, I still struggle daily.

This is the part of bipolar most people don't know about. The majority of people think that it's all about full blown mania or full blown depression. It's not. The extremes are, of course, the most notable and obvious. But most people with bipolar disorder don't spend most of their time in the extremes. We spend our time in mild depression or hypomania or mixed. And even when we're stable our moods can change suddenly, for apparently no reason. We may struggle with suicidal ideation even when we aren't in an episode. We may become so used to our extremes that anything other than that feels like apathy, like we have no emotions.

I'm not really sure where this is going. I'm just frustrated I guess. Tired of my underlying feels.

Just a quick update . . .

This is just a real quick update and I'll write a real post soon. I'm back on the Brintellix (you may remember that I was on it before around 3 months ago - it worked, my mood was getting so much better, but it gave me crippling anxiety). Well, the seroquel isn't doing much for my depression which is starting to get bad again (not suicidal bad, but I-don't-want-to-participate-in-life bad). It's taking a toll on hubby and son and so the decision was made to try Brintellix again. My pdoc is hopeful that the seroquel will help control the anxiety better than the geodon did. We'll see. I'm anxious as I type this so . . .

So I'm probably stable . . .

I truly do believe I'm stable. I've made it through the worst of the recent med changes, made it through the rebound depression, and I'm what you would call "stable". I'm not having any major mood swings. Rather than the swings hitting like a tsunami, they're 4-5 foot waves that lap more gently at the shore.

This should be good, right?

In a word: yes.

But also no.

Why? Because the moods I'm feeling now are very stunted. They're subdued. At times, they're almost not there. And this, for me, is bad. I'm used to feeling the extremes of moods. I'm used to the highs (though relatively rare), the hyper irritability, the deep sorrow and depression. I feel that. It's guttural. It's intense. But now my moods are meh. Blah. Whatever. Flat. Apathetic.

Or anger.

Here's my problem: I'm stable, but I'm not happy. I feel more like I'm on the outside of everything, viewing, but not taking part in life. I'm bobbing right along the surface, able to keep my head above water, but still drowning - albeit slowly.

I'm stable, but I feel no real joy in things. My job, that I love, is an annoyance. It's an inconvenience. Everything about it makes me irritable and resentful. Dealing with patients can make my blood boil. I don't enjoy it anymore.

My hubby and son . . . I try feeling joy, happiness, and love with them and I mostly come up short. I don't want to do anything with my son. I don't enjoy him. Him wanting to play a game with me irritates me and makes me snippy and angry and sad. I would prefer not to interact with him. With my hubby I do a little better. But I'm not really happy around him. I try. I try.

I'm stable, but I'm still depressed. Maybe I'm not at the sobbing-constantly-suicidal-depressed phase, but I'm depressed none the less. It's more mild. It's this black cloud that never fucking leaves. It's always there. Always hovering over me, always making everything more difficult. I'm more withdrawn. I avoid people and conversations. I'm almost constantly irritable. I'm down, melancholy. Whatever you want to call it.

I'm stable, but I'm not really alive. Does that make sense? I'm existing. I'm going through the routine of everyday life. I get up merely to make it to bedtime to escape again. During the day at home all I want to do is sleep to escape how I'm feeling - or, rather, what I'm not feeling.

I don't want to exist. I want to live. I felt how it feels to live while on the Brintellix - but I was taken off of that due to side effects. If I can't live, what's the purpose of being alive? Seriously. I want to wink out of existence.

That's not really an option though. So I'm trudging along, going through those motions, praying for a spark. Trying to keep hope alive while I'd truly like to throw in the towel.

Because this shit is hard. Pretending to be okay is fucking hard. Especially when there's no end in sight. Maybe this is as good as it will get for me. That's depressing in and of itself.

My pdoc is happy with my progress. She thinks the seroquel is working wonders. After all, I'm stable, right? That's the whole point. Stability. Who the fuck cares if I enjoy life . . . as long as I'm stable.

And before you go thinking I'm all doom and gloom and dwelling on everything bad - I'm actually not. I'm doing everything I can to stay in the moment. I'm picking out my errors of thinking and countering them. I'm taking it one day at a time. I'm trying to do things that I used to enjoy (though most of the time I have to force myself). I'm doing my best not to catastrophize. I'm eating healthier again, exercising regularly. Listening to good music, keeping busy, not allowing myself to nap too much.

And yet I mostly feel like crap. I'm still depressed. I'm still not happy. The unrelenting black cloud won't break up for anything. I'm stuck.

Here we go again . . .

July 21st I posted something marvelous - how good I was feeling. I was feeling stable, happy, enjoying life.

You'll notice my use of the word was.

I'm no longer there. I'm no longer that girl. I should have known that it would be too good to be true.

Here's what happened: I had to stop the Brintellix. Why? Because my pdoc is refusing to prescribe it. Why? Because it was causing anxiety. Constant, unrelenting anxiety with panic attacks. That was getting worse. To the point of me not being able to sleep.

But even with the anxiety, my mood was good. Optimistic. Joyous at times. Everything I would want it to be.

But alas, no Brintellix for me.

My pdoc had another idea. Seroquel XR. There is a lot of strong research out there pointing to Seroquel as being the superior choice in treating bipolar depression. The research is compelling. My pdoc is confident it will work.

Seroquel is an antipsychotic, and I'm already on an antipsychotic (geodon). There is no real need to be on two. So we're phasing out the geodon. The Seroquel is supposed to replace both the geodon and the Brintellix. This is all well and good in theory, but not so much in practice.

See, I am no longer me. I am no longer this person who enjoys life and sees it worth living. The happiness and wholeness that I felt have been ripped away from me. I am a husk again. A paper doll. A two dimensional thing incapable of feeling the normalcy and stability I experienced just 2 weeks ago.

But it's worse this time. Because I was happy. Because I could feel. And just as I was getting used to it - used to feeling normal - it's gone. Slipped through my fingers as I desperately tried to hold on. It's nothing but dust now. And you can't pile dust together and make a stone as much as you can't have "real" feelings without proper brain chemistry.

I can't fake it. It's not there. It's just not. Fucking. There. I try and be happy. I try. I might catch myself in a moment of laughter and I push myself to feel. I mean, I was laughing - I should be feeling. It registers, but only for a moment. In seconds it's gone. Two weeks ago I would have felt it. I would have felt happiness, joy, humor, elation, togetherness, solidity . . . but that's just not there anymore. And, try as I might, I can't force it.

I'm trying to give the Seroquel the old "college try". I'm trying to give it a chance. But I don't want to settle for existing. Not after knowing what it feels like to feel good.

I don't want to be a husk. I don't want to be a paper doll.

I want to be me.

On Med Changes

Cinco de Mayo heralded in major med changes for me. I wrote about them in my last post, but let me refresh your memory:

I stopped lithium, decreased my lamictal by half, and started depakote. I will be stopping wellbutrin but not until I finish what I have left in my bottle (I figured that maybe that would be way too much of a change all at once).

My body and brain, true to form, are not liking the changes. Almost overnight depression. With suicidal ideation. It has been . . . not fun.

If I'm not horribly depressed and sobbing, I'm stuck in a state of apathy - of not caring. And no matter what state I'm in, there's a strong sense of anhedonia.

Nothing that should bring me joy or pleasure does.

I'm merely existing right now people, and existing and living are not the same.

I'm trying to keep in perspective that this is all most likely thanks to my med changes and it will pass. With time, it will pass. But that's difficult to do when your thoughts are so dark. When your thoughts are becoming increasingly more centered on death, dying, and suicide. It's difficult to do when you count how much propanolol you have (178 pills) meticulously, several times, to know for certain that you have enough to do the job (that's probably 5-6 times more than enough - propanolol is a blood pressure medication).

I'm not going to take it.

I have self control, even though it wears thin sometimes. I'm thinking it best, though, that I give the bottle to my hubby, just to be safe. Just to take away that out.

The apathy and anhedonia are almost worse than the sobbing and despair. I don't know what to do with these feelings. I don't want to play with my son. It's tiring and bothersome and I just don't care. Which is horrible because I should. He's spending the weekend at his grandma's house which is good for me because I don't have to deal with the horrible feelings I get for not feeling anything for him. I love him - obviously - I just don't feel it.

The same, too, goes for my hubby. I love him, dearly. But I don't feel it. And it makes me feel terrible.

Work is the same. It's a chore. I can't feel happy for the new parents. I can't share in their wonderment of their new child. I can't honestly joke with my coworkers (I can fake it, though not very well any more).

My art, sewing, writing? All desire, and hope for desire to do these things, is gone. Picking up a pencil is a chore - not something to look forward to and enjoy.

I can feel despair, depression, anger, and nothing. And that's about it.

I'm going through the motions, I'm existing. I'm muddling through as best I can.

Hubby had me make an appointment for next week with my therapist. I've been trying to see him only every other week, with the goal of spacing it out further. But now I'm seeing him next week. Which I'm honestly not happy about. Sounds stupid, yeah? I feel as though it's a waste of his time. That I should suck it up and deal with what I'm going through. It's probably the med changes anyway and it should get better with time. Put on your big girl pants and get through it. I feel weak and embarrassed and stupid for making the appointment.

But I probably need it.

Just this morning I noticed how preoccupied with death I am when looking up new books to read. They were all stories about death, suicide, or very dark in nature. I've had a couple ideas for macabre paintings again, though I have no desire to paint them. These are warning signs I should probably heed. And, I guess, I will.

In the meantime I will continue to exist, I will go through the motions and hope things get better and not worse. I will try to find some meaning in life. I will remind myself that anything I do to hurt myself will only hurt my hubby and my son - more profoundly than it could ever hurt me.

That is the only thought, honestly, that keeps me going.

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.

WTF, self?

No, seriously, what the fuck?

The past week has been pretty damn rough on me. Hell, the last few weeks. I'm steadily going down hill. Slowly, but steadily. It started with becoming more drained and overwhelmed - first at work, and then in general. Then I started to feel more down. Not depressed - just down.

And now? The past 4 days? Depression. Not too deep, not too bad, but it's there. That dirty motherfucker is there.

Stupid fucking Ted.

Friday at work was bad. I didn't know how I was going to make it through. Saturday was worse. The depression was more pressing. Sunday? Well, Sunday started off better but I slid, and I cried, and I felt despair and hopeless and scared.

And today. I'm at work right now. I'm writing because I need to. My mood today has been better than the last 3 - I feel more down today than depressed (thank God for small favors). But everything is overwhelming me and I can't bear to be around people. I've always been okay with patients but not today. Today interacting with patients is proving difficult.

I've been hiding from people. Coworkers. I just can't do it. A 2 minute conversation leaves me drained and down. I don't even want to talk with my best friend. I'm so drained that I almost don't want to go work with the horses tomorrow (now you know it's bad).

And here's the frustrating thing: I'm doing things right. I'm actually not catastrophizing this. I'm actually not ruminating on this. I talked with my best friend about it and I'm writing this. I talked with my hubby the past couple of days and that's it. I'm curbing negative self talk and countering it with positive. I'm not letting myself do all of the things I used to do in the past.

I'm doing everything right.

I don't want to jump to conclusions. I don't want to think that I'm starting another mood episode. Because I can't. I've decided to give this a week or two, see if it clears up. If not, then I'll make an appointment with Dr. C and I guess go on an antidepressant.

It's just that I hate this so much and I don't know what I should do. I need to vent but I can't ruminate or beat myself up over this. So I'll write this and I'll move on. I'm going to try and ignore this, downplay it. Not make much out of it. Maybe that will help.

Maybe I'm in denial.

At any rate, fuck you, Ted.  

So About Work . . .

Yesterday was my first day back at work. I was in the nursery (meaning going to deliveries - every delivery) and we were steady - we did 6 deliveries. Overall, I would say that it was a good day.

Now, having said that, I did noticed some definite deficits.

First and foremost - cognition. I was processing things more slowly. Luckily, in a life or death situation (I did a resuscitation on the baby in my first delivery), I was good. Snap, on-the-fly decisions came without hesitation - my critical thinking wasn't affected.

When it came to prioritizing things - charting, making charts, phone calls, lab draws, circumcision checks . . . I was not so good. I was slow to process and I had a hard time focusing and concentrating. You might want to say "but Cami, it was your first day back after 5 weeks off." And I would say yep, you're right - but I shouldn't have issues with this kind of stuff. I'm the most organized, efficient person at work.

Or at least I was.

Next - exhaustion. By 1pm I was done with people. Done. The fact that I had to interact at all was too much for me. I became withdrawn and flat, saying little. I felt mentally and emotionally drained. I felt tired. I found it difficult to be present.

And lastly - myself. Yes, I was a problem. Which is quite stupid, if you ask me. I was a problem because I had high expectations of myself - and I didn't meet these expectations. The day was both harder and easier than I thought it would be. I had a preconceived notion that I was going to fail miserably - and I didn't. So easier. But I didn't meet my high expectations, so harder.

See, my problem is the deficits. With each mood episode you get worse. Where as 2.5 years ago I was 100%, now I'm functioning at maybe 87%. And it will continue to get worse. I notice these deficits. I've been noticing them get worse over the last year (most notably over the last 4 months). And for me that's devastating. To not be able to function at my best, especially at work, is just not okay.

And I'm starting to beat myself up over it which could cause a downward spiral. I'm doing my best to curb the negative thoughts and for now I'm succeeding. It's just that they keep coming. Negative thoughts, what-ifs, and doubt is all trying to creep in. I don't want to function at 87% - I want to be 100%. I should be 100%.

"Shoulds" are bad. "Shoulds" make you feel bad. Part of my problem.

The other issue is whether or not I go part time. I honestly think that for right now, part time would be best for me. A little less work, a little less stress, a little more recovery time. I think it's what I need.

But I have a strong work ethic. And I feel like I'll be letting people down.

I also feel I have an obligation to my family. If I go part time we'll have a major shift in how we're living - namely, foreclosing on our house, filing bankruptcy, and moving into a rental house. That's a lot to process and that whole situation is based on what I chose to do.

How fucking terrifying is that??

I feel all this pressure to perform, to perform well, and make everything be okay. Most of it is probably put on by myself and my expectations, but I can't change that that's how I feel.

And I'm not catastrophizing - I should get that out there. I'm actually trying to minimize everything. I'm trying not to catastrophize. I'm trying to be practical.

Well, there you have it. There are deficits. I'm at 87% instead of 100%. I'm terrified of what going part time means, even though I think it would be better for me. Boom. Done.

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.

Bleh

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

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

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

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

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

But can't I get a break?

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

Sunday

I'm drained right now. Utterly, emotionally drained. Yesterday was exceedingly hard mood wise. I was up and down and everywhere in between. And by "up, down and in between" I mean I was hypo for about an hour, numb for a few, depressed and crying, followed by more numbness, followed by depressed and crying. And angry and irritable the whole time.

Sounds fun, yeah?

So here's the thing - I'm pretty sure I'm rapid cycling. I'm pretty sure I have a bipolar chemical swing going on here. That this is a bipolar issue. Not a character issue. Not a "me" issue. I think my chemistry is a little outta whack and I'm along for the ride.

Which is never a fun ride people - this is the roller coaster from hell operated by the love child of Richard Simmons and the devil.

I mean look at that. Fuuuuuuuuuck. That's just not fair.

But I digress.

I tried to talk with J last night about this. I've been trying to hide my swings from him, from everyone because I'm so worried and convinced that everyone is going to think that I'm doing this to myself. That I'm self-sabotaging again. I'm all but paranoid about this. 

Let's be honest: I'm so paranoid about this that I've become hypervigilant of everything I'm feeling or thinking. However, even though I'm hypervigilant, I think I've been doing well at tempering that with letting go and not catastrophizing. Which is hard for me. Because I'm an idiot. 

So I've been writing in my mood journal, making note of my mood shifts, trying to find a theme or pattern or trigger. I have been thinking about this. Quite a bit. It's hard not to when your mind is constantly racing, constantly interjecting thoughts (it's gone back to the you're-a-failure-because-you're-not-better-and-everyone-would-be-happier-without-your-crazy-ass-around type of thoughts. The not good thoughts). It's hard not to when you're hypomanic and you have to be aware of where you are and what you're feeling and thinking so that you don't completely act out or act inappropriately or say inappropriate things. I mean, I will literally puke up some obscene line of nonsense and not even realize what I've said until I get nasty looks.

So I have to be aware. I have to think about my moods. 

But I don't have to overanalyze - one of my favorite pastimes. One that I've mastered expertly. A flawed coping mechanism that I rely way too heavily on. I've spent my entire life coddling this ability and fuck you I'm going to use it!

I shouldn't though.

J pointed out the whole "overanalyzing" thing to me. I got defensive and bitchy. I think all I am lately is defensive and bitchy and snippy and miserable to be around (oops - negative thinking there - another flawed coping mechanism. I seem to be full of those!). But I started thinking . . . maybe I am overanalyzing myself right now. I mean, I'm riding these emotional ups and downs, trying to stay in the moment, not catastrophize, and move on. And, I am doing that. But maybe not as well as I think I am. 

Maybe I'm overanalyzing a little.

Something else - the last couple of days where I've had some really bad lows (most notably yesterday), I find it difficult to bring myself back up. It really is easier for me to stay there because I know how to do that. I know how to feel like shit. I often think I deserve to feel that way.

Which I don't.

But it's easier to stay down than spend a ton of energy to pull myself back up again. So I've got that going against me. I'm starting to overanalyze and I'm finding it easier to completely give in to my lows. Not a great combo. But something I can change.

Let's do a quick recap: I'm rapid cycling. I'm having true bipolar controlled mood swings. I'm not doing as well as I could managing them thanks to flawed coping mechanisms. But I can change those coping mechanisms.

Which leads us to my next problem. How do I change those coping mechanisms? I've started that process. Working through ACOA and codependency. Reading the books, answering the questions, discussing with M. And that's awesome, right?

Right?

It is, if that wasn't the probable trigger of this current rapid cycling episode.

Wait, what?

Talking about ACOA and my alcoholic mom and codependency is VERY difficult. It's VERY emotionally taxing. It's distressing. So much so I've had some anxiety coupled with it. So much so I've had some nightmares about it. So much so that I want to blaze through everything and not even touch it at the same time. 

Blaze through it?

Yes. A handy nugget of info my best friend L gave to me last night (her and J are just full of these goddamned nuggets of wisdom that I should be figuring out on my own and I both hate them and love them for that). 

I'm diving headfirst, blindly, into a sea of nasty emotionally charged shit. I'm not even thinking - I'm just doing. I need to work through this so let's fucking do this! Baby steps need not apply. And, as L pointed out, I've built this shit up over the last 35 years, so how the hell am I going to work through it in a few weeks??

She also pointed out that I'm an idiot. A fact we already know, L. Bring something new to the table!

Recap time again:

1. I have bipolar disorder. Having bipolar disorder makes it difficult to regulate moods. When you're bipolar it's more difficult to cope with everyday issues. This makes it even more difficult to cope with anything that goes above and beyond this. Both bad and good.

2. I dove in head first trying to work through the pain and grief and anger and rage that took me a lifetime to acquire. I dove in expecting to blast through this in a matter of a few therapy sessions and I got in over my head. Now I'm drowning in the muck.

3. This (most likely) triggered my current rapid cycling episode. 

So now I'm rapid cycling. I'm bipolar and by nature have a difficult time coping with things. I'm trapped in the thick sludge that is my childhood and, even though I'm drowning, I'm still insisting that I can go deeper, faster. 

Is it any wonder my moods are everywhere? Is it any wonder that I'm having issues coping? Is it any wonder that I'm bitchy and snippy and sad and unstable? I'm denying everything above because it's easier to. It's more convenient to. I'm at that ledge where I can exercise all of my negative coping mechanisms, ignore logic, buck any help offered, and plummet. 

Or, I can take a step back, slow down, be kind to myself. I can allow myself to take breaks. I can take some pressure off of myself. I can take what I've learned so far and actually use it. I can listen to, and use J and L's advice without getting defensive and angry - despite what my sick brain thinks, they're actually not out to get me. 

That's the hard part though. Going against 35 years of flawed coping and thinking. And doing that while doing battle with my sick brain. 

But I can. I have people just as, or more, stubborn than me on my side.

Just a quickie

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

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

I'm overwhelmed.

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

Bitch, I'm fabulous. Deal with it.

Fuck you Clancy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So Clancy? You, sir, are an asshole.