Procrastinating . . .

That's what I'm doing right now. Procrastinating. Writing this post. I've been looking up random shit on the internet instead of writing. For a couple reasons, really. One, I'm depressed, and sometimes I want retail therapy when I'm depressed (hence looking up shit to buy on the internet), and two, I'm depressed and emotionally drained and writing is sometimes difficult when I'm like this.

Wait.

Let's go further back.

To Sunday. Sunday was a bad day for my depression. Very bad. The highlight of the day was seeing Big Hero 6 - a funny movie that was pretty epic.

Monday. Monday wasn't great. Had some suicidal ideation (it would be so easy to take all of my seroquel and just go to sleep . . . just sleep and not wake up . . .). There was that, and that's bad enough. But around 3 my tummy wasn't terribly happy with me. Around 5 it was kinda angry. And then after dinner my ENTIRE INSIDES waged war on me.

That's right. Food poisoning.

I was stationed on the toilet with the trash can in front of me for almost 2 hours. The stomach cramps left me moaning in pain, hyperventilating and both cursing God while begging him for mercy (you son of a BITCH PLEASE make this stop . . .). I stripped down to nothing because I was sweating so much from my misery. Hubby tried to help, which involved getting me some water and watching helplessly as my gut tried to kill me.

What made my shenanigans worse was that I couldn't take my meds. Nope. Even water was making my intestines angry again.

So I couldn't sleep. See, my body is now wholly dependent on seroquel for sleep. Stupid, right? And my stomach was churning and gurgling and angry and nauseous . . .

But by 12:30am I couldn't take it anymore. I got up, had a slice of bread, and took one seroquel (I usually take 2). I figured, hopefully one won't upset my stomach as much as two, and it should be enough to go to sleep.

Nope.

Too little too late I guess. Or my tummy issues were enough that I wouldn't sleep no matter what. I finally fell asleep around 3:30 and promptly woke up at 5. Yay! So much sleep!

I had therapy at 8:30 yesterday morning. I'm depressed, my stomach is still all wonky, I haven't had coffee thanks to stomach wonkiness, I'm tired, and now I have therapy. It was a long session. And exhausting (it would have been exhausting even if I had gotten sleep).

We're trying to figure out the depression thing and M has a way of challenging me and my thinking. Which is good. That's what he's supposed to do. So I'm telling him how I have an appointment with a new psychiatrist on the 27th, that I'm no longer going to see Mary. "And so you'll make sure to tell this new psychiatrist that if he says something you don't like, he'll be fired too," M quipped. I glared at him. "No. That's not what I'm doing", I growled. "Chika has always been very business and short and cold. Mary, the first time I saw her, said that I didn't have to be depressed all the time. That we should be able to manage the depression so that I could actually feel good. And NOW she tells me that meds won't help and that I need to figure out how to deal with feeling suicidal every day. That is NOT OKAY in my book!" I almost spit at him. "Even if that's what you believe, you don't tell your depressed, suicidal patient that."

I lean back against the couch. I didn't realize I had crouched forward, wringing my hands. "I've been seeing them since June. I've given them a fair shot. They took 2 months to get my med prescriptions straight and their secretaries are horrible. And good luck getting seen if you have an emergency - they already double book appointments." M nods. "I just want to make sure you have realistic expectations," he says.

Yeah, well, I probably don't.

"I don't know what to do med wise," I say. "See, I've been doing 'research'", I make air quotes, "on what was going on this past summer when I was the most stable. I was stable when on geodon and brintellix. But we had to stop the brintellix because of the anxiety and then switched from geodon to seroquel to try and help the depression. Well, there's no difference in my mood between being on 50mg of seroquel vs 600mg - except for more pronounced side effects. So what's the point of that? There's no point!" I stop a moment, rubbing my temples. Everything is so muddled. "My thinking is slow. I'm sorry." I wait a minute. My thinking is slow, but my thoughts are racing. So many things I want to say but they're not coming out. "Okay, so Mary had mentioned that I need to do trauma work, right? And so did the doc in Boston. Okay. Trauma work. We've been doing trauma work almost every week since the middle of June. We've done that. We went over my past relationship and rape almost 2 years ago and I'm comfortable with that. We've been going over the ACOA stuff for a while now. I'm going to Al-Anon. I'm doing stuff in workbooks on my own. And honestly? If you were to say, right now, what do yo need to say about your mom, I would have no idea what to say. I have no idea what more to talk about. We went to her house Christmas Eve morning and it was good. I've been texting her here and there and it's been good. I'm not feeling triggered by that like I used to be. I've invited her and her boyfriend over for dinner. She's respecting my boundaries and I feel good about it. Is there more stuff to work through? Yeah, there probably is. But I don't know what it is until it punches me in the face, I guess. Point is, I don't know what more to say, I'm comfortable with her, I'm not getting triggered like I was . . . so what then? What do we do when this happens? She says trauma work but I don't know what more to do with trauma work." Big sigh. I don't know how much of that makes sense.

"That was really nice," M remarks. "That shows how much progress you really have made. You've kind of come full circle and you're recognizing it. You have done a lot of work. You've made a ton of progress. You really are exceptional."

I blush. "I wouldn't say that . . ." Truthfully? I have done the work. I've been in therapy for 3 years. Weekly sessions almost the entire time. And I have learned a lot. I recognize me errors of thinking and then stop and replace them with positive things. I'm doing much better at mindfulness - being present (I'm not great, not perfect most of the time, but I try all the time). I'm truly taking things one day at a time. I'm recognizing triggers and either avoiding or minimizing them. I'm trying not to isolate. I do positive readings, track my moods via chart and mood diary, take my meds, go to therapy, keep a regular sleep routine, am cleaning up my diet, trying to get back into exercise . . . I'm not exceptional, no, but I'm doing the fucking work, that's for sure.

"No, Cami, you are. And with all of this, maybe this depression is a bipolar chemical thing."

I nod. I'm hoping it's a bipolar chemical thing. It has to be a bipolar chemical thing. Why? Because look at all the shit I've done. All the shit I'm constantly doing. If this isn't chemical? Then what the fuck else am I supposed to DO??? Seriously. There's not much more I can do. I'm trying a DBT group. I met with the therapist who runs the group yesterday and my first session is next Monday. It meets every other Monday. So there's that. I guess I can always try neurofeedback (but there aren't any good studies on it, it's expensive, and insurance doesn't cover it). Then there's good 'ol ECT. Which is not even choice for me.

Truth is, I'm doing everything I can. So if this new psychiatrist tells me that changing my meds, in what ever way, is not going to help . . . I have no idea what to do. Because I'm doing everything I can already.

M wanted me to describe an acceptable level of functioning for me. Here it is: I would like to be able to enjoy my husband and son. I would like to enjoy their company and doing things with them. I would like do enjoy doing things. I would like to not have suicidal ideation every day. I would like to not hate my job.  I think that's pretty reasonable. I think that's pretty realistic. M thinks so too.

And I know that that's not a destination. I know it's a journey, something M always points out. I know that I'll always have to manage my moods and triggers and meds. I get that, I really do. I hate it, but I get it. It's a lifelong journey. I just don't think I should have to spend so much of it so depressed that I want to die. Is that so much to ask?



I know I've had a lot of posts about this lately. It's been bugging me. Trying to figure out what is going on and how to best handle it. I don't know what is bipolar or PTSD or situational or environmental . . . I don't know. I just want to feel better.

Increasing my Seroquel

I saw my pdoc yesterday and we're increasing my seroquel. I'll have 4 days at 150mg, 4 days at 200mg, and then be up to the target dose of 300mg (I've only been taking 50mg over the past 2 weeks). I'm hoping it works. We'll see.

When she first gave me the seroquel 2 weeks ago, she said there would be no difference in the level of sedation between 50mg and the higher doses. Yesterday she told me I might notice increased sedation. WTF? I've already noticed that I'm more sleepy throughout the day and have a harder time getting up in the morning and now you're telling me that this will get worse. Thanks. It's also increased my appetite 10 fold and I'm already gaining weight. If this doesn't slow down it'll be a deal breaker for me. (To counter this I'm getting my butt back to the gym and using Sensa - though it's hard to work out when you're sleepy and have no motivation thanks to worsening depression).

I had decided that I would give this med change 8 weeks to fully take effect. I think that's more than reasonable. Which means I still have 6 weeks to go. I'll be honest - I'm not optimistic. One might argue that I wasn't optimistic with the Brintellix and that worked. And that would be true. I'm hoping that seroquel will prove me wrong. I don't know if I'll wait the full 8 weeks. I might decide at 6 weeks whether or not it's working for me. If not, I want back on the Brintellix. If the anxiety comes back then we treat it. I'm tired of feeling like crap.

The last 2 weeks have been rough. I've cried almost every day and I'm back to not wanting to exist. I'm back to thinking that everything is hopeless and pointless and why should I bother trying. Sadly, what comes next is not wanting to live. And that quickly spirals into suicidal ideation. I don't want to go there. I don't want to be there. I want to feel good. I want to feel happy. I want to be stable. I'm tired of this fucking unrelenting depression.

It's frustrating to have felt so good and to now feel so bad. And no, it's not fair. It's like I'm not supposed to be happy. I'm not supposed to be well. And that's a bunch of bullshit.

Brintellix

I figure I might as well put this out there - I was started on a new medication. I know, I know, that's going against what the doc in Boston recommended, but the reasoning makes sense.

At my second appointment with my new pdoc, she recommended that I start Brintellix, a brand new antidepressant. Her reasoning is this: I've been on lithium and lamictal for 2.5 years. I've been on geodon for 7 months. These meds are working well for my hypo manic symptoms - I haven't had hypo mania since I was hospitalized in November. I'm as stable on these meds as I'm going to get. But they're obviously not doing much for my depression since I'm still struggling with it. We need to get something on board to work on that.

She gave me 4 weeks worth of samples and wanted to see me again in 2 weeks. I didn't want to take another med. I was scared of having a horrid reaction to it like I did with the Depakote. And it went against what Dr. Schulman said.

So I didn't take it.

And then my depression was pretty bad for 2 weeks. I was apathetic and anhedonic. I cut. A lot. When I saw my pdoc again last week, she again brought up the Brintellix, saying that I had to decide how depressed I was willing to be. She said it was ultimately my choice, but that she strongly recommended it. And we wouldn't know my reaction unless I tried it.

I was scared. The appointment put me in a foul mood. At home, I discussed everything with hubby who then pointed out how miserable I am and how much I hate life. How I don't find joy in anything.

The following day I started the Brintellix.

Today will be day 7 on it (I take it at night). And I have to say, I think it's working. The past 3 days I've felt better (Saturday, Sunday, Monday). More like myself. More happy. It's been refreshing. Yesterday I was actually a little hypo manic - which was great except for the racing thoughts and later in the evening when I turned into a raging bitch for no apparent reason (which poor hubby took the brunt of). I had energy, I got a lot of shit done, I laughed hysterically. It was mostly good.

Today I'm a bit apathetic, a little down, but every day can't be great.

I'm hoping the Brintellix works without putting me into a full blown hypo manic episode. I see my pdoc on the 27th and will be getting a script for it if it seems to be working. I also hope I can afford this medication - it's brand new and my insurance might not cover it. If that's the case, no Brintellix for me. We'll see.

Weird day so far . . .

I woke up this morning with the feeling that it was pointless to get out of bed. I was wide awake, which is unusual (the past few weeks I've been horrifically groggy in the mornings), but it just seemed stupid to get out of bed. I mean really, what was the point? My son is at his grandma's, I'm home alone, I have nothing to do until I see my pdoc at 5, so what's the point? Nothing really matters anyway.

But we have a guy coming to clean our ducts, furnace and air conditioner today so I needed to be up and showered. So I got up. And I showered. And I had breakfast and coffee. All I could think about was cutting or burning so I decided to make myself do something. I tidied up, folded laundry, dusted, and cleaned my office. I got my son's sheets in the wash and our comforter in the dryer.

It's 10:45 and I again have nothing to do. The duct guy is here. I can read, but I don't really feel like it (and I've got 6 hours to kill). I could try drawing but that just seems too daunting a task. Nothing I draw comes out right anyway and I get frustrated to the point of wanting to destroy something.

I want to get rid of stuff. Like, a lot of stuff. Trash it, give it away, sell it, whatever. Everything feels cluttered and we're going to need to downsize anyway.

I'm still apathetic but I'm restless. I didn't sleep well and I'm tired but I have this nervous energy. I hate it when I feel like this. Like life is meaningless and I'd be better off not participating in it. I'm not suicidal, I just want to disappear. Not exist for awhile. Obviously, I can't do that. So I'm just kinda stuck. Feeling like crap but not really feeling.

I hate not feeling. Well, the past few weeks I either have icky feels or no feels. Both are bad. I keep thinking that I'll even out, that Dr. Schulman will be right and I'll be okay and everything will even out. He said to give it at least 3-4 months. But then I think, feeling like this? For another 3-4 months? Can I get any fucking reprieve? Trauma work fills me with the icky feels. Triggers fill me with the icky feels. And when I'm not feeling icky I feel empty and dead inside. This is no way to be. And I keep thinking about how I get to deal with this for the rest of my life. Maybe my pdoc was right - maybe I do need to be on something for depression. The Brintellix like she recommended. But I'm scared to try something new - I have a bad track record with medications.

Oh well. What can I do? Keep plugging along and hope for the best I guess. Every day is a new day, and just because today is crappy it doesn't mean tomorrow will be crappy too.

So here's something fun . . .

I had an appointment today with Dr. C which lasted waaaaay longer than normal - an hour rather than 20 minutes (I feel sorry for the people with appointments behind me). We're tweaking my meds again. And he's contacting a colleague that he'd like to have see me - a second opinion type thing on my meds.

But here's the fun part - while in my appointment, he got a phone call. A phone call from Mass General in Boston. They've agreed to take me as a patient for a consult. Only thing? I don't know when yet. Dr.C will be doing the scheduling - the appointment may be a month or two out - we don't know. But they agreed to see me, which is the hardest part of the whole process.

So it looks like I'll be going to Boston in the future. Go me!

It's been awhile

So yeah. It's been awhile since my last post and quite a bit has happened. Let's see, last post was about depression coming back.

And that is still the case I'm afraid. But I also have this really awesome thing called anxiety. And it's been bad. I have panic attacks when I try and sleep. At first it was just with trying to nap. Then it started with going to bed at night. Racing heart, feeling of impending doom, shakiness, panic. It happens at random times throughout the day too. Sometimes it's constant throughout the day.

Hell, I'm almost in a full panic attack right now, writing this.

I've had irritability and insomnia - to the point where I've been taking klonopin to sleep.

I have all the symptoms of a mixed episode starting. At first I was thinking it might be caused by Deplin - a folic acid supplement that my psych doc put me on. I found one site that listed insomnia, irritability and anxiety as side effects. But I looked it up on my work's fancy info site and it seems that this is not the case (at least for 99% of people - who knows, maybe I'm that 1%). It can cause acne though - which has gotten horrifically bad. So I stopped taking the Deplin, just in case.

The anxiety and irritability continues (the insomnia has gotten better, thank God).

I've had some other issues (that I won't discuss here) which has led to my psych doc having me increase my geodon back up to 80mg - which I really do not want to do (last night was my first increased dose and I certainly feel the effects today - namely fatigue and grogginess). He's also considering starting me on Depakote, which we'll discuss when I see him on Monday (I have strong reservations about going on this drug because of the side effects). He's also started the process of trying to get me seen by the mood experts at Mass General in Boston. I want to go so badly but I'm not terribly hopeful that it will happen.

I've taken to rating my mood on a scale from 1-10, and most days it's around a 3. I'd like it around a 6. I've had some 2's, and I've had a few 4's as well. But, still pretty low. And did I mention anxiety? And irritability? Oh I have? Okay.

What else . . . I was in on a code on a baby and the baby died. This was my first infant death (though I've coded many babies). I took it pretty hard - harder than I thought I would. So hard, even, that my brain went into overdrive giving me full blown depression with suicidal ideation for a day. And then - poof - gone. My brain does not handle stress well at all apparently.

Speaking of stress, I still get overwhelmed at work. I'm keeping my shit together just fine, I just feel overwhelmed and exhausted after working. And during working. Especially since almost every day I've worked we've done 8-10 deliveries. So crazy busy. But I'm handling it better than I was even a month ago, which makes me feel hopeful that at some point I'll be able to go back to full time. Probably not anytime soon, but at some point (I still have a hard time handling two days a week - let alone 3 right now). But I'll get there.

And lastly, my son has been having some anxiety issues of his own - mostly about something happening to my hubby or I (or his uncle). This has been going on for weeks. A few days ago he asked me tons of questions about my bipolar (not that he called it that - he's 7). Wanting to know why I act the way I do, why do I get angry or cry for no reason, why am I sad, why doesn't my brain work right, why do I have to take so many pills, will I always be like this. That kinda stuff. And he made a request that actually kinda hurt - he asked to see a therapist. He wants to "talk to someone about this like you do". It broke my heart a little because I know that quite a bit of his anxiety is cause by my instability. But I'll find a child therapist for him so he can talk - as much as he needs to. Maybe it's only one session. Maybe it's several. I don't know.

Alright. I've written enough for now. A brief overview of what the hell has been going on.

Torn . . .

After having several days of full blown depressive symptoms, I made an appointment with my psychiatrist. My hubby agreed (and almost insisted) that this was the right thing to do. My appointment is next Wednesday - that was the soonest I could get in.

Four days of full blown depression in a row, followed by an okay day, then back to depression. I even considered taking pills to escape the pain.

And now I'm conflicted. Yesterday I had a pretty good day. I was a little down, sure, I was drained as usual, but I was okay. I laughed during therapy. I hung out with my best friend and had a good time. I was exhausted after, but it was a good day.

Today I'm at work. I'm drained (as usual) and I'm withdrawn, though not as withdrawn as I have been. I'm irritable and annoyed and don't want to interact with patients. However, I've been able to joke a little and laugh.

Am I wrong to see my psychiatrist? Despite my shitty days, I have a couple good ones and immediately question my course of action. I suddenly think I'm stupid and overreacting. That I should give it more time because I'm jumping the gun. I was trying to be proactive in not letting my depression worsen, but now . . . should I be waiting?

I hate when I feel like this, when I question myself and my decisions. It's probably good that I see him. I can bounce my thoughts and fears off him. I can talk to him about stopping the geodon (I'd really like to have my sex life back). And I can get refills on all my meds.

See? See how I'm trying to justify going? All because I can't trust my own instincts. I think that everyone will think that I'm weak if I go on an antidepressant, that I should be able to handle this and besides, I'm pretty stable after all. Just work through your codependency issues and you'll be fine.

But I feel so empty and lost and down all the time. I can't help but think that there's more to this.More to life than feeling this way. Or maybe this is as good as it gets for me. I don't know.

But I guess I solved my own dilemma - I'll keep my appointment with Dr. C and hope it wasn't made in vain. I may or may not change my meds. I don't know what to expect. Hell - I may have another depressive downswing that will justify me going. I just don't know.

I wish this were easier.

Frustrated. Yep.

I'm thinking this is going to turn into a mini rant. Let's be honest, I kinda know it is. Because writing is a good way to sort out my thoughts and get stuff off my chest.

I feel so weird. I'm not quite sure how else to describe it. I feel frustrated, restless, confused, conflicted, unsure, impatient, up, down, and everywhere in between. I'm fidgety and need to move but I feel stagnant and I can't or don't want to move. I'm in this strange limbo.

See, I've been feeling better. Pretty good for almost the last 2 weeks. It seems like the Welbutrin is kicking in and then I had my big "ah ha" moment in therapy about not wanting to get better. On the up and up. I even had a few days where I was hypomanic and felt really good. Big sigh of relief.

So why these mixed feelings . . . ? I have no idea how to "feel good" or "normal". It's foreign to me. I've been depressed or mixed for so long that I don't know stability. I don't know what to do or how to act or be or anything. It's unsettling. And, quite honestly, terrifying.

And how bizarre is that, really? I have no idea what it's like to feel happy. Just . . . happy. I used to know. I had a period of almost 6 years where I was stable and happy. When I first met J I was manic. Coming out of a horrible relationship and I had been out of control for about 3 months prior to meeting him. And he calmed me down. I don't know how, but he did. I slipped into hypomania, and then into "me". I was happy. I was content. I was who I was meant to be.

When we had been married for around 2 years, I became hypomanic. And I almost ruined my marriage. The depression that followed was bad and I was suicidal but I pulled through it. I saw a counselor at the college, we saw a marriage counselor a couple times, and I pulled through. I was stable again. I was me.

And then we decided to have a baby and I was pregnant the week I went off birth control. Literally. My pregnancy was hard for me. I hated it. Loathed it. My anger was through the roof and I was becoming depressed. And I hid this pretty well I think. After my son was born, the depression got worse. I downplayed it as much as I could, but by 5 or 6 weeks post partum I needed help. I saw my primary and was put on Lexapro (post partum depression the diagnosis).

The depression eased briefly, but, as insidious as depression can be, it came back. My meds would be increased or changed. Each time we changed or increased my meds, I was hypomanic for a week or two and then would slide back into depression. These brief periods of hypomania got me in trouble at work and had J wondering if I was bipolar.

When my son was about 3 (2010), my primary doc started to question me more deeply and suspected that I was bipolar. We added Lamictal to my Zoloft and I became highly hypomanic - so much so HR was involved because of my behavior. So I stopped taking it and tried to find a psychiatrist. I didn't find one accepting new patients until January 2012. The day after seeing Dr. C for the first time I only narrowly escaped slitting my wrists.

From January 2012 until now, today, I have been either severely depressed or mixed. I haven't felt like "me" since 2006. Seven years of not knowing what stability or consistent happiness feels like. SEVEN. FUCKING. YEARS. And two of those 7 years have been complete hell; a nightmare.

And yet I wonder why happiness feels foreign to me. I wonder why "feeling good" confuses me. I don't know how to be happy anymore. J and M say to "just be - you don't need to do anything. Enjoy it." I don't know how. I don't know how and it scares me. Is it any wonder I sabotage myself when I start to feel better (mostly subconsciously, lets get that straight)? Why would I want to get better when it feels so wrong and scary? Why not stay where it's comfortable and familiar?

Because it will kill me, that's why.

J misses the old me. The me that was carefree and happy. The me that was stable and didn't overdose or need to be hospitalized. And I want that me back - I really do. For J, for myself, and for my son. But I'm terrified of the process and I'm terrified I'll fail. I identified part of my problem and I'll be working on fixing it. But I start to feel better and it feels so strange and I don't know what to do because I don't want to go down the same path. I don't want to sabotage myself and I try just to be in the moment but my brain doesn't work like that. For all my artistic qualities, I'm analytical. I turn things over and over again in my mind. I overanalyze things. And I try not to over react or catastrophize days like today where I come home from a training class and cry because I don't know what I'm supposed to feel. And my mind automatically starts to cascade. So I put my foot down and say "NO. This is NOT what I'm doing. I am NOT going down this path again."

But see, I was starting to feel good again, and it confuses me and I feel strange and alien in my own skin. And my meds are starting to work, and I did identify a major problem so I should be good, right? I'm feeling better so I should be better. But I feel strange and alien and confused and scared and I beat myself up for that. I should just feel better. I should just feel happy. I shouldn't have this conflict because I know what's going on and I get frustrated. I get frustrated with myself and impatient that I'm not done with all this. I figured out the problem, I should be good!

The impatience and frustration and self deprecation breed shame and defeat and complacency. It breeds failure. And all of this feeds the depression and I'm back where I started. At the bottom trying to crawl my way out of the pit I just threw myself into, wondering what the hell just happened - I was starting to feel good!

I know all this. (Obviously - I just wrote it all out). And yet I do it. Over and over again. I'm trying to stop it today, at this very instant, by writing all this out. I can see this happening, right in front of me, and I'm terrified I can't stop it. I'm terrified that for all of my work and good intentions and insight I will fail and this cycle will continue. That it will continue until either J leaves me or I end up killing myself.

Defeated

That's how I feel right now. Utterly defeated. Just got home from my appointment with Dr. C and we're doing exactly what I thought - stopping Cymbalta and starting Wellbutrin. Joy. Another med change.

It seems that's all that ever happens. Try this med, stop this one, add this one, decrease this dosage . . . It's very frustrating. It's getting me nowhere. And I'm tired of it.

I left the office in a daze, near tears. I had to fight the tears while driving. And I'm sitting here, on the couch, struggling with what to write. My head is a whirlwind, but at the same time, sluggish and quiet. It's a very strange sensation.

I want to sleep. I'm so tired. Mentally and emotionally tired. But I only want to sleep so I don't have to deal with what I'm feeling. So devastatingly lost and defeated. I'll be honest - I'm not hopeful. We've been through this song and dance before and look where I'm at. Again.

I can't even write right now. I can't make sense of anything or concentrate. I'm staring off into space. I'll go cry. I'll try to sew. I'll carry on as best I can.

Weird

I feel weird. I think I put that in my last post. And that's really the only way I can describe how I feel. Weird. A little antsy, unsure, uneasy. Boggled by some thoughts. Confused.

I can't quite out my finger on it, but then I have some ideas as well. I certainly don't feel like myself. And I still have the ever present "I don't care about anything" attitude. And anger, irritability. And an overall feeling of being down. It's shitty. I also have this feeling of impending doom. I don't know why.

I don't like it.

Therapy with M was better today. Had him read my last post which, let's be honest, was nerve wracking for me. But we talked about it and it was okay. It was better than last week. But I still just . . .I don't know. I'm confused. I'll write more on this later after I think about it. I need to digest and ponder.

Saw Dr. C today and I'm back on Cymbalta (which, if you remember, I was on before and stopped because of sexual side effects). Trying 30mg instead of 60 - hoping for symptom relief without the side effects. We'll see how that goes. Dr. C mentioned he has to remind himself that I'm his patient and not a colleague. He also said that I am the highest functioning bipolar patient he has and I inspire him. And that he wants to publish my paintings, have me write a book, and run a support group. And this, apparently, is why he has to remind himself that I'm his patient. :)

I'll write more later. I need to think about what I'm feeling. Try and figure it out. As M says, I'm "too fucking insightful!"

I guess that's not a bad thing.

Hey look - it's Friday

I'm sitting outside typing this, which makes the screen difficult to see - more so than I thought. But it's gorgeous out. Overcast, light breeze, about 78 . . .gorgeous. Stark contrast to the past few days which have been hot and horribly windy and have hindered the fire fighting efforts here in Colorado.

Today is . . .weird. I'm not sure how else to describe it. I've been having shitty days lately. Days where I feel like crap and I cry or come close to crying and I feel like the depression is coming back. My mood has been trending downward. Friends have noticed. I can't wait to see Dr. C and figure something out. Then I'll have a couple of relatively good days where I feel mostly normal, mostly okay. Days where if my mood trends downward I'm able to bring it back up. Even short periods where I feel really happy. These days I think that nothing's wrong and why the hell did I make the appointment with Dr. C and I don't need any help. And then I have a crappy day again. Or I have a day like yesterday, or today, or over the weekend where I don't cope well and I feel like things are collapsing in around me. Where I'm not really depressed, but I'm overall down and withdrawn and don't really care about anything. There was the threat that we would have to evacuate because of the fires and I didn't really care. Whatever. I've worked 6 of the last 8 days. Whatever. I don't care.

And that feeling, honestly, is terrible. I spend most of my days flat and withdrawn with brief periods of elevated mood (not like hypomanic elevated - just elevated above flatness). So I'm not really depressed, per se, but I'm not really living either.

And stress. Oh my, stress. I'm not handling it as well as is my custom. Nope. Mainly issues at work because we've been so busy and I've been working so much. I manage, but I withdraw more on those days. I seek out places where I can be alone. The less interpersonal interaction the better.

So then today. I had therapy today, which is normally wonderful and I leave feeling good and uplifted and more optimistic. Soooooooo not the case today. I left feeling . . . drained? No. That's not quite right. Disappointed? Well . . .no, not quite right either. Disinterested, hollow, unnerved, defeated, annoyed, frustrated, dissatisfied, drained and disappointed. That's closer, I think. And also this overall attitude of "I don't give a flying fuck through a rolling doughnut about anything".

And I wondered why. Why was I feeling like this? This is not the norm during or after therapy. And I think, maybe, it's because I didn't accurately relay the information above. I'm so blase about everything that I just don't care and I downplay the importance of how much my mood is actually bothering me. Hiding it. An old habit cropping up. So I didn't say much about it - not what I had planned, not what I had intended. I stayed on the surface.

M played devil's advocate and challenged me a little bit. Awesome. Do that. Pointed out that maaaaaaybe some of my complaints/symptoms/whatever are just me being human and not my bipolar. Yep. Awesome. I'm sure he's right. Falling off the exercise and eating healthy bandwagon probably is just me being human. But my downward-trending-I-don't-give-a-fuck mood doesn't help that.

And there's something else. Something else hiding just under the surface. I know it's there, and it's hard to acknowledge.

And it's even harder to write about.

Hard, because I intend on having M read this during therapy next week. My heart is pounding just typing this. Hands shaking. It's stupid. It's so fucking stupid.

See, I have this tiny little paranoid thought that M questions the validity of me needing therapy. Like he's running circles around me, placating me, wondering why I haven't figured this shit out yet. And it's stupid and I'm sure it's not true but that thought? It's there.

The thought has been there over the last few sessions where I've seemed somewhat better and coping and doing rather well and if I'm doing well then why do I need therapy? To beat a dead horse? To help feed M's horses (as I jokingly said today when he asked why I was still coming)? So I question myself and my need and Clancy (my brain, remember) runs with it and I think puts these thoughts and feelings on M.

There's a psychological term for this: projection. Maybe that's what I'm doing. I'm questioning myself and my feelings and it's distressing and so I'm just gonna throw that shit on M so I don't have to feel so bad about it. Bam. I should charge for this.

I've even thought about stopping therapy and my meds and double flipping the bird to the world while riding a unicycle and wearing a fez. Fuck therapy, fuck meds, fuck me. I don't do this because I'm actually not an idiot, but I won't lie - I've come VERY close.

So where does all this leave me? Confused and upset and scared. I'm not sure what to do or expect or say. I'm not sure what I need anymore or if I should trust myself.

And now I'm crying. Fuck.

Meh

It seems that I'm caught in some sort of "no man's land". I'm not depressed. I'm not happy. I'm not . . .anything. I'm at that delightful point where I don't feel anything. I'm flat and withdrawn and don't want to be around people if I can help it. I don't feel anything and I don't seem to care.

 

But that's not true. I actually do care. I want to feel things. I want to have emotions other than irritability, mild depression, and flatness. I want to experience joy and happiness and contentment. Trust me - I want to.

 

For the past several weeks, not much has made me feel truly happy. Not much gives the sense that everything will be okay and that this mood episode will pass. The moments of happiness are fleeting at best. Most of the time I'm flat. I don't feel much, and what I do feel is muted. I get annoyed easily. I get very irritable. I don't handle stress or personal jokes/sarcasm very well. I'm not me.

 

And yet I wouldn't say I'm depressed. Not like I was before. Not by a long shot. I'm just sort of . . .here. I exist. That's about as good as it gets. And here's the annoying part - I want to change this. I'm trying to change this - and I can't. Not effectively. Everything I was doing before I went off the Cymbalta - mindfulness, being present, meditation, etc - isn't as effective. And I'm so apathetic about everything that I don't even care to try.

 

Except I do care. And I try, but it's not as effective. And I try, but maybe not as hard as I should. And I try, but I feel like it doesn't matter because this isn't going to change. This isn't going to get better. It does, for a short time, and then I relapse. I relapse and that solidifies the thought that this isn't going to change. This isn't going to get better.

 

A year and a half ago I had a "mood event" (for lack of a better term). I crashed. It was 2 years in the making of a slow downward spiral culminating in a near suicide attempt the day after seeing Dr. C and M for the first time. It's been a constant, daily struggle since. I'm depressed, I start doing relatively well, I go mixed, get well, depression, slightly better, MAJOR depression, get well, mixed, and now flat, withdrawn, apathetic. Every day is a struggle. Trying to stay in the moment and not worry about the past or future. Trying not to overthink things. Trying to manage my feelings without micromanaging them. Trying to be zen and mindful and relaxed and find the joy in little things. Trying to stay positive. Trying to reign in racing thoughts, pressured speech, impulsivity, and my inappropriate mouth. Trying not to think back to how depressed and close to death I was. Trying to remind myself that life is worth living and trying desperately to convince myself that things will get better and the days won't be as difficult. Trying to do all this while keeping it hidden from everyone so no one knows what's going on.

 

See, people have been through my mood episodes before. My family and close friends saw me through my overdose and hospitalization. I'm supposed to be better. I don't want them to get annoyed with me or tired of the same thing over and over again thanks to my mood instability. It's hard on them too. So I keep it hidden from them and try not to talk about it. I don't want people to think I'm looking for attention. I'm not. And I don't want them to be stressed or concerned. 

 

And so I'm trying my best without really trying my best because it's too hard aymore to try even though I really want to. I'm existing and functioning but not much more. I see Dr. C on the 18th. Maybe we'll adjust or add something. Maybe I'll continue to not care. I don't know.

Ho boy . . .

I'm rather pissed right now. And near tears except I can't cry - no matter how hard I try to. Which is stupid and annoying and makes me even more mad. I need to fucking cry.

I'm stuck on this slippery slope again. I've gone over the top and down the side and I'm sliding. It's gravel and loose rocks and there isn't much to grab on to and I'm losing my footing. I'm scrambling, reaching out for anything to help stabilize me . . . but I seem to be sliding down further.

Meaning, the depressive feelings are coming back. And I'm having a much harder time keeping them at bay. I feel down all the time, flat, withdrawn. And irritable. Good GOD am I irritable. Though I'm still practicing being mindful and being in the moment, I don't feel any joy or happiness - just empty and irritable and down. I try to keep myself focused and busy and present. I try not to think about the past or the future. I try not to worry. But I keep sliding further down that slope.

I see M next week (after not seeing him last week or this week - too long for me to go between sessions), so I'm going to be talking to him about it. I don't know if I should make an appointment with Dr. C to try adding a different antidepressant or if I should keep waiting this out.

It's just annoying. Stop Cymbalt because of side effects (when I was finally feeling better) which threw me into a mixed episode. Coming out of the mixed episode to be left with the depression coming back. I really AM getting worried that this is how I'm going to be for the rest of my life - in a constant, losing battle with my moods.

And that's a scary thought.

Bollocks

It's been awhile since I've written. And that's been for several reasons. Time, motivation . . . but the main reason is because I don't want to be "complaining" all the time. I'm continuing to have more and more "difficult" days, which is tiring and taxing.

 

Most days I feel flat and withdrawn. Sometimes a little down, but mostly withdrawn. But that "downness", that depression, is coming back. And it seems to get a little worse each day.

 

And see, I don't want to write about this or complain about it or dwell on it because I want it to go away. And I'm hoping by experiencing and then ignoring it that will happen. I'm trying to stay positive, I'm trying to be mindful. I'm trying not to fret or worry or read too much into this. I'm trying to take this as a minor setback, as part of the adjustment to my meds and to my thyroid meds being changed. I'm trying to find an external source of the "downness", the reason for the seemingly sudden change in mood.

 

As of yet, I can find nothing. As of yet, the feelings grow. And it's all together frustrating and maddening and I'm so fucking DONE with this shit.

 

And I have no idea what to do. No idea anymore. Seeing M helps. Working with Chance helps. Acupuncture helps. But it's fleeting help. I try to hang on to the benefits as long as I can because I need to. But it seems that no matter what I do, it changes nothing. I come back to square one.

 

I'm thinking of doing a 2 week gluten-free trial to see if it helps anything. I'm thinking of doing a strict detox diet. I'm thinking of growing my hair out or shaving it all off or dyeing it purple or taking up karate or yoga or skydiving or anything that will stop everything that's goin on. I'm thinking of stopping all of my meds. Just stopping, cold turkey. Let's see what happens.

 

I'm thinking of all of these things and I'm thinking of nothing. I release all of those thoughts and I meditate and I try to remain mindful and I pray. Oh God do I pray. For strength. For insight. For patience. For understanding. And for mercy.

 

And through all of this I still struggle. Through all of this I'm having more bad days than good. And I don't know why, and I don't know what to do.

 

And it's frustrating.

Been a bit

It has been a bit and a lot has happened since my last post. Most notably, I was hospitalized at an inpatient psych unit for suicidal ideation. I went voluntarily at the advice and recommendation of my psychiatrist and therapist. It was not an easy decision, and I spoke with them at length about it. And in the end, I went in.

I went in Sunday afternoon and was discharged Wednesday afternoon - I think my psych doc would have preferred another day or two, but I missed my son too much (they wouldn't let him visit). What was good about it was that Dr. C had his friend and trusted colleague Dr. S oversee my care while I was there (they both collaborated on it). It gave me a few days with no responsibilities and no stress.

Eventually I'll write more about all of this - I even journaled and took notes of people/behaviors there - but right now I'm still very exhausted. The last several weeks have completely drained me. I don't think I've ever been so tired in my life.

In short, my meds were tweaked, I got a little bit of rest, I met some interesting people and had some good group therapy sessions. I'm still depressed - quite depressed - but I'm not having suicidal thoughts at all and no thoughts of self harm. It's still a long road ahead of me, but I'll get there (and hopefully my meds will start working soon).

More to come later.

I don't even know what I'm feeling anymore . . .

The last month has been exhausting, confusing. A cyclone of emotions that pull and tear at me, stripping me down to a blank husk of nothing. I don't know what to think. I don't know what to do. I don't even know what I feel anymore. . .

An overdose, an ER visit, nearly shattering my hand by putting it through the stone tile of my fireplace . . . Things I never thought would happen, places I never thought I'd arrive at . . . And I'm scared and I'm confused. And I don't know what to do.

I'm trying not to catastrophize but I'm also trying not to minimize what's happened. I'm trying to stay positive and derail negative thoughts. And all of this is so tiring. And I'm tired of fighting. And when you've felt so bad and so out of control for so long (over a year now), it's hard to see things ever getting better.

And still I push on. There's nothing else I can do. Regardless of how tired I am or how hopeless I feel or how badly I want to throw in the towel . . . I have to push on - my hubby and son are depending on me - they need me to push on.

I take things minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. I have to stay in the moment or I risk losing everything. I'm pushing on in hopes of better times, of stability, and of actually being able to feel again.

Almost hospitalized

This post is what I posted in my "diary" on an online bipolar support group I joined. I was going to write something a little different for here . . .but I'll be honest - I'm too exhausted to do that. So, enjoy. Though it's a bit heavy.

I'm not going to get emotional with this. At least not too emotional. Hell, who knows.

The last several days, weeks probably, have been bad. And getting worse. Two weeks ago I took pills. Not too many - 3 xanax, 2 ativan and one klonopin. I was unconscious for over 12 hours - it was considered an overdose though I didn't go to the hospital.   I talked with my therapist about it. He talked to my hubby about it. My pills are under my hubby's control and hidden. All the razor blades are gone. The keys to the gun safe are hidden. 

I kept telling myself that it was okay, it was no big deal, it happened so let's just move on and forget it.

But the depression got worse. I became more withdrawn, irritable, empty and hopeless. I tried to hide it. I did a good job until 2 days ago. I was too tired. Too mentally and emotionally exhausted to keep the facade up. I had to work, of course, and I did okay with my patients. I hid the rest of the time, avoiding coworkers. I was thankfully able to leave early last night to see my psychiatrist (let's be honest - if I didn't have someone to cover me, I would have left anyway).

My psych doc is starting me on prozac and trying to get me an appointment with a specialist in Boston. Which is fine. I'll try the prozac, and I'll go to Boston. Anything to make this feeling go away. All I want to do is curl up in a ball and not exist. I don't know why I can't just do that. Why can't I stop existing? The pain and the hollowness is too much. It's all too much. I'm at my breaking point and I don't know if I can go on. I'm tired of hiding. I'm tired of wearing my mask and pretending everything is okay when I'm crumbling inside. I'm tired of the pain and the emptiness and the anger and irritability. I'm tired of everything I've been going through.

So I'll take the prozac, and I'll go to Boston if I can get an appointment.

I had therapy today. And it was rough. I was in a very bad place this morning. And therapy was good . . .until I walked out the door. I lost it. Completely lost it. Leaning against the wall, sobbing. I couldn't control myself. My therapist walked out and found me. I, of course, tried to stop and hide it and convince him I was okay. He didn't buy it and suggested that I may need to be admitted. The tears poured again. I told him no. I pleaded no. I told him I'd be okay, I'm always okay, I always push on. I know I didn't convince him, but my hubby was home and he could keep watch, and so he let me go. I went into the bathroom and cried and cried until I was drained. I was so frustrated. I punched the wall. It's plaster. I punched it again. And again. It hurt like hell. I punched again. I did nothing more than take a small chunk of the plaster out . . .and bruise the hell out of my knuckles. Battle scars, I guess. 

After I composed myself, I went downstairs out to my truck. I sat there for awhile, staring blankly out the windshield. I opened the center console and pulled out the multi-utility tool and pulled out the knife. I turned it over in my hands, watching the sun glint of the sleek metal.  I pushed the tip of the knife into the tip of my pointer finger. I thought about using it as I spun it around, just shy of puncturing my fingertip. I could end the pain, it could stop. I wouldn't feel anymore . . . .

Except I don't want to die. I don't want to die. So I put the knife away and left. Dropped off my prescription and went home. And the rest of the day I've been trying to recover. And that's so hard to do and I'm so tired. And I'm hoping that tomorrow will be a better day. It has to be a better day because I can't go on like this much longer. I don't have the stamina, I don't have the drive. I don't have the will. 

I have to stay strong for my hubby and my son. I have to keep trying for them. They're the only ones keeping me alive. 

Fweeeeeeee

I don't even know what that title means . . .

I'm trying not to write depressing vent posts - at least not too often. I've been slacking in my posts recently as well. Stuff going on, stuff that I'm not sure I want to share here. So let's just say that I've been mentally and emotionally drained. And so very tired. I haven't been sleeping well the past week. At all. So much on my mind.

I'm still battling my depression, and it's been worse lately. I'm not catastropizing it, I'm trying to ignore it and move on. I'm trying to stay positive and I'm changing things that I'm doing (for example, I'm not painting anymore of my Bipolar Chronicles paintings unless they're not dark or focused on suicide). Hopefully that will help stop the suicidal thoughts. I know I'll still get ideas for new paintings - and I'll write them down and then not paint them. I'm going to sew again and try my hand a acrylic painting (I've always done watercolor).

I'm frustrated, to say the least. I've taken a nuvigil (my "upper") every day this last week and I'm still below the surface. I'm still drowning. I'm functional, yes. I can fool people into thinking that I'm doing well, yes. But I certainly don't feel that way. I'm empty and withdrawn and a shell. I want to stay away from everyone. I want to be alone. But I'm ignoring this (or at least trying to), and forcing myself to stay busy, and do things, and interact with people.

I made a bad decision last Friday night (suicidal+pills=bad). Discussed it with M, and I did email Dr. C about it. I'm terrified I'll be put on another medication - I don't want that - but I don't know if there's any other option at this point. I definitely don't like how I'm feeling now and I don't need another Friday night.

We'll see what happens. I'll of course update here for the 3-4 random people who read this. Until then I'll be plugging along, telling myself I feel fine and trying to ignore how empty and sad I actually feel.

Fun with your Psychiatrist

Actual email I just sent my psychiatrist:

"Hey Dr. C, I figured I'd give you a quick update on how I've been doing since our last meeting on christmas eve. I've had a couple of low days - pretty darn low. One I had very strong suicidal ideation, bordering on suicidal. But it passed, and the next day I took a nuvigil and pressed on. Most days I'm doing pretty good - sometimes blah and disinterested - but still pretty good. I'll keep pluggin' along and take it day by day.

I have my latest lab results back - thyroid and lamictal levels. My thyroid: TSH 0.52 (ref. range 0.36-3.74), free T4 0.88 (ref. range 0.76-1.46), T3 total 203 (ref. range 70-190). My lamictal level is 4.5 (ref. range 3-14). I think having my T3 levels higher has helped with the depression, hopefully :)

Also, when I saw M this week, I told him a fun little nugget of information he said I should share with you, just so we're all on the same page. I've been having some auditory hallucinations, which is awesome. And by awesome I mean somewhat annoying and slightly terrifying. Most are pretty benign - claps and whirs and tapping and metal on metal grinding sounds. Some . . .not so much. I was coming home from the gym and went to unlock the garage door and I heard someone on the other side of the door unlocking it for me. No one was home. At work on Wednesday I heard a little girl singing on two separate occasions. No one else could hear her. That one freaked me out a bit because it was crystal clear.

Okay wait. Did you hear that? Please tell me you heard that. Please. I'm serious. Can you hear that laughter?? Okay, this is getting to be too much.

That was a joke, by the way. Because I'm awesome and funny like that. You're welcome.

And I actually am having the auditory hallucinations. That part wasn't a joke. Only the joke part was a joke. I'll shut up now.

I'll keep you updated if anything changes, otherwise I'll see you in February at my next appointment.

Thank you!"

That was fun. I'm curious what his response will be . . .

Also? Why the hell does my font color/type/whatever randomly change? Seriously. I've tried changing it 4 times.