And can I just say "wow". It was a whirlwind of a trip - we were only in Boston for around 24 hours. But I learned quite a bit - and can hopefully move forward in my recovery.
I'm still processing everything I was told, and probably will be for some time. A bomb of knowledge was dropped on me and, while some of it is just speculation, it's a lot for me to think about.
Let's start with this: I saw Dr. Brian Schulman at the Bipolar Clinic and Research Program at Mass General. I was sent to see him as a "second opinion". Basically, my psych doc (pdoc) has no idea what to do with me so he wanted me to see the big dogs - the guys who work only with bipolar patients. The appointment was 2 hours long and started with a thorough health and mental history (hubby was not in the office for most of the visit - only for about 30 min). He had me explain things about my past (my upbringing in an alcoholic home, my abusive ex, my father's death) in way more detail than anyone other than my therapist. He had me explain what my mania and depression were like, going over the big episodes and as many of the little ones as seemed relevant.
This lasted the first hour.
We spent only around 10-15 minutes going over meds - what I'm on currently (which he said is a good combo and he wouldn't change it) and what I've previously taken. My reaction to 2 meds (Latuda and Depakote) is highly unusual.
But we all knew that I was unusual.
And then the meat. Then he got to work. He pointed out that the most recent 2 diagnoses that I have been given (rapid cycling bipolar 2 and rapid cycling bipolar 1 with psychotic features) sent up a red flag. See, rapid cycling - true rapid cycling - is rare. (Rapid cycling is defined as having at least 4 distinct mood episodes in a year - each episode lasting at least 2 weeks). He said I didn't actually fit this criteria (while I've been told by my current pdoc, my new pdoc, my second opinion pdoc in Pueblo, and the docs at the hospital that I am rapid cycling). He said that since my hypomanic and mixed states (except for one in October/November 2013) don't typically last for more than a few days, they can't be considered a major mood episode. Hence, I'm not truly rapid cycling.
He told me that 9/10 times when someone comes to him with a "rapid cycling" diagnosis, something else is going on too.
My something else?
Chronic PTSD.
From my childhood. From being raised in an unpredictable, often unstable home with my mom. From my dad, who was my safety net, my confidant, and my strength, dying so young (he was 43 and died from lung cancer). From being in an abusive relationship. From being an RN (yeah - RNs actually build up chronic PTSD - we see some fucked up shit, y'all).
Dr. Schulman said that people with chronic PTSD react differently than say a war veteran with PTSD or a one time rape victim with PTSD. With the acute PTSD, you think of flashbacks, nightmares, all of that stuff. Not so with chronic. We don't adhere to the typical fight or flight - instead, we freeze. We either become numb, or we overreact emotionally.
Now, think about this. I have bipolar disorder. A mood disorder. Characterized by exaggerated moods. And chronic PTSD, in which I overreact emotionally. Let that sink in. I did.
Dr. Schulman explained that the 2 almost feed off each other and it's hard to tell which is which - which mood change that I have is from the bipolar and which is from the PTSD. He said that in the brief time he'd talked to me he saw only 2 "true" manic episodes (meaning they lasted 2 weeks or longer) - one in college and my one in October/November 2013 (this alone earns me a Bipolar 1 diagnosis). My hypomanic episodes (which can last hours to a day or two) could be bipolar mood shifts or PTSD overreactions. Or both - acting off one another.
So, in other words, it's complicated.
My medications, he explained, do an amazing job at warding off the big bipolar mood swings - the true mania and sometimes major depression - but do nothing for the little swings. Which is why changing medications all the time trying to manage these swings is ineffective (and mimics the unpredictable environment I was raised in, he pointed out, which can trigger more cycling).
We've been doing everything ass backwards it would seem.
So what helps these little swings? Psychotherapy. He said I had a lot of work to do in that area, in going over my past. Which, I know. We've spent so much time in therapy doing damage control and crisis intervention that we haven't spent much time delving into my past. I wouldn't even know where to start.
Now, there's the depressive side to this too, we can't forget that (especially since that's what I struggle with). I've had depression for as long as I can remember - 4th or 5th grade at least. And I always seem to have this underling depression, this black void in me that never goes away. Dr. Schulman believes that I also have Major Depressive Disorder - and that it's difficult to tell which depression is bipolar related, and which is depressive disorder related. So the depression is harder to treat. Most likely the constant underlying depression is depressive disorder and my more acute, suicidal depressions are bipolar related. But there's no way to know for sure.
Listening to all of this just kinda . . . clicked. It made sense to me. It seems very plausible. Dr. Schulman pointed out that some of this was speculation, based on the short amount of time we had to meet and talk, but that that was his professional opinion. Does that mean that this is a set-in-stone diagnosis/treatment plan? No. It most definitely isn't. This is another set of eyes taking a fresh look at my situation. This set of eyes just happens to be from a bipolar specialist. And what he said did make sense to me.
So I'm left with this - my diagnoses:
1. Bipolar 1
2. Major Depressive Disorder
3. Chronic PTSD
And work. I have a lot of work to do now. If Dr. Schulman is correct about my smaller swings, then it's all on me to manage them. And I've been doing a piss poor job at that because it's fucking hard, y'all. My mood swings, whether bipolar, PTSD related, or both, are unpredictable and difficult for me to manage - if it were easy, why the hell would I be going through everything I've been going through?
But hearing this, that all these little swings are most likely up to me to figure out and will probably never go away . . . that's fucking daunting. You kinda hold out hope that the right med combo will make it all better - and that's just not going to happen. He warned me that the weight of this would hit me - and might hit me hard. He even wanted to make sure I was seeing my therapist this week because of this. He told me to warn my hubby about it.
As I write this, I feel mostly numb. Mostly. Given the right trigger, I'd break down sobbing. I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to see Dr. Schulman. His opinion is by far the most different from any that I've received, but also the most comprehensive - it seems to take in the whole picture, whereas others are just about the meds.
At any rate, I have more of something that I've been lacking for awhile now. . .
Hope.
Showing posts with label rapid cycling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rapid cycling. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Friday, January 3, 2014
Losing my shit
I wanted to try and describe how it feels when I get overwhelmed. Since it happens so often now.
It starts with a feeling of dread. My heart and stomach drop. I know what's coming, what feeling, what experience. I know what to expect. My heart starts to speed up, slowly at first. It beats hard and fast and I can feel each beat in my temples. In my whole body. I start to sweat a little. Not much, just a little. Everything is in slow motion now. My world will come crashing down.
I feel myself sink to my knees, shoulders slumped as it happens, as my world falls. And fall it does. Glass flies as the windows shatter, their cacophony almost as loud as my self defeating thoughts. Plaster and drywall rain down on me. There is water, water falling from somewhere that I can't see, to add to the mess. Right in front of me, like a movie projector, is everything I love and care for. My friends and family. My husband. My son. They fade as they're pulled away from my outstretched arms, forever out of my reach. I'm rocking now. I place my hands over my ears and scream. Silently, I scream.
Everything starts to go dark. I look around at the encroaching blackness and panic. Not again. Not like this. I tell myself that I'm fine, everything is fine, I'll be fine. The rocking quickens and I still have my hands over my ears. I shut my eyes against the darkness and continue with my mantra. I slow my breathing as the anxiety and dread build. Breathing slowly, thinking of my family, breathing slowly, thinking of my family.
There may be tears, there may not be. There may be anger, there may not be. There may be a rage so great that I feel compelled to add more destruction to my already crumbling world. There may not be. There may be despair and sorrow so great that I completely break down sobbing, knowing that I can't possibly go on. There may not be.
Slowly, eventually, my mantra starts to work. Slowly, eventually, my heart rate slows, the rocking stops, and I can look around at the destruction. The water is still falling, but so lightly that it's a mist. Debris lays strewn everywhere, piles of glass and drywall and hopes and dreams. I stand in a daze, that dread still there.
Because now I have to clean up.
I wring out my shirt as best I can and pick shards of glass and flakes of paint and drywall from my hair. I have to push on now. I have to push on and clean up and pretend and act like this never happened. That I'm okay. Because I have to be okay, don't I?
That, my friends, is how I feel when I get overwhelmed. Every time I get overwhelmed. Which may be several times a day. Now, obviously I don't drop to my knees and scream and rock (well, sometimes I actually close my eyes and rock, but I don't scream, let's be honest). But this is how I feel. The feeling may only last a few minutes - boom! Here and gone. It may last a few hours. Or the initial feeling may last only a few minutes but the cleanup may take all day.
It's not fun. And it's not all that easy. It takes it's toll on me. By the evening I feel emotionally and mentally drained. If it's a good day, where these episodes are few and last only a few minutes, I'm doing pretty okay. I'm mostly okay. On a bad day, like yesterday, I'm down and withdrawn, easy to anger and exhausted.
I have a feeling that this is how I'll be from now on. That if I'm not in acute crisis (ie depression, mania or mixed), this is how I'll be.
And on a good day, that's fine.
But on a bad day . . .
And there are triggers. There are definitely triggers that make this all worse. Some of them I know, some are completely random. And a lot of them are unavoidable. So I'm always on guard, alwyas on alert. Always monitoring.
It's pretty awesome.
It starts with a feeling of dread. My heart and stomach drop. I know what's coming, what feeling, what experience. I know what to expect. My heart starts to speed up, slowly at first. It beats hard and fast and I can feel each beat in my temples. In my whole body. I start to sweat a little. Not much, just a little. Everything is in slow motion now. My world will come crashing down.
I feel myself sink to my knees, shoulders slumped as it happens, as my world falls. And fall it does. Glass flies as the windows shatter, their cacophony almost as loud as my self defeating thoughts. Plaster and drywall rain down on me. There is water, water falling from somewhere that I can't see, to add to the mess. Right in front of me, like a movie projector, is everything I love and care for. My friends and family. My husband. My son. They fade as they're pulled away from my outstretched arms, forever out of my reach. I'm rocking now. I place my hands over my ears and scream. Silently, I scream.
Everything starts to go dark. I look around at the encroaching blackness and panic. Not again. Not like this. I tell myself that I'm fine, everything is fine, I'll be fine. The rocking quickens and I still have my hands over my ears. I shut my eyes against the darkness and continue with my mantra. I slow my breathing as the anxiety and dread build. Breathing slowly, thinking of my family, breathing slowly, thinking of my family.
There may be tears, there may not be. There may be anger, there may not be. There may be a rage so great that I feel compelled to add more destruction to my already crumbling world. There may not be. There may be despair and sorrow so great that I completely break down sobbing, knowing that I can't possibly go on. There may not be.
Slowly, eventually, my mantra starts to work. Slowly, eventually, my heart rate slows, the rocking stops, and I can look around at the destruction. The water is still falling, but so lightly that it's a mist. Debris lays strewn everywhere, piles of glass and drywall and hopes and dreams. I stand in a daze, that dread still there.
Because now I have to clean up.
I wring out my shirt as best I can and pick shards of glass and flakes of paint and drywall from my hair. I have to push on now. I have to push on and clean up and pretend and act like this never happened. That I'm okay. Because I have to be okay, don't I?
That, my friends, is how I feel when I get overwhelmed. Every time I get overwhelmed. Which may be several times a day. Now, obviously I don't drop to my knees and scream and rock (well, sometimes I actually close my eyes and rock, but I don't scream, let's be honest). But this is how I feel. The feeling may only last a few minutes - boom! Here and gone. It may last a few hours. Or the initial feeling may last only a few minutes but the cleanup may take all day.
It's not fun. And it's not all that easy. It takes it's toll on me. By the evening I feel emotionally and mentally drained. If it's a good day, where these episodes are few and last only a few minutes, I'm doing pretty okay. I'm mostly okay. On a bad day, like yesterday, I'm down and withdrawn, easy to anger and exhausted.
I have a feeling that this is how I'll be from now on. That if I'm not in acute crisis (ie depression, mania or mixed), this is how I'll be.
And on a good day, that's fine.
But on a bad day . . .
And there are triggers. There are definitely triggers that make this all worse. Some of them I know, some are completely random. And a lot of them are unavoidable. So I'm always on guard, alwyas on alert. Always monitoring.
It's pretty awesome.
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
Christmas day
I just reread my post from yesterday and, surprisingly, it kinda makes sense. Kinda. Holy crap was I pissed at church.
This morning we went to my mom's house for breakfast and presents. It was lovely. My mom makes some kickass breakfast casserole and she's not drunk in the mornings so that's an added bonus. It was fine. It was good.
Then we went to Denver to J's aunt's house. Which was fine, but not as fine. See, there's a lot of people there. Like, 15-20. And there's noise. And apparently Clancy can't handle that much stimulation anymore.
It didn't take long before I felt overwhelmed. Trapped almost. Unable to cope. Effectively at least. I was a little withdrawn. As time went on I became irritable. I was shouting at family members in my mind. Yelling at them for their (seemingly to me) stupid comments. It was like church all over again. I became more withdrawn because I didn't want to inadvertently say what I was thinking.
About an hour before we left my mind started racing. Images, thoughts . . . all melded together, coming and leaving almost too quickly to be registered. The racing thoughts continued the whole way home. Even when I plugged in my iPod and sung along, which usually helps, the thoughts and images still came.
At home they reached a fever pitch. My mind was going so fast I couldn't hold on to a single thought. I tried writing in my mood journal and it came out as one long, nearly illegible, run on sentence. I was almost in tears my brain was so frantic. It's a horrible feeling not being in control of your thoughts. Not being able to slow them down enough to get a sentence out. Being confused with all of the images flashing through your mind, completely unrelated to one another and anything you're thinking.
I had J bring me my electronic cigarette. I did deep breathing. I ate so I could take my Geodon. I talked with J a little and texted my best friend L.
My mind is slowing which is why I'm able to type this. Not enough that I can write eloquently - it's still going fast - but at least I'm getting something out.
Yesterday and today made me realize something - I can't handle too much stimulation. It's like my brain short circuits. Too much input and it goes into overdrive and I can't cope. And when you sit back and say, well, I'm still in a mixed episode and this is to be expected, it doesn't seem too bad. But what I worry about is what if it's not entirely from the mixed episode? What if I continue to have issues like this? Issues with stress or crowds or too much visual stimulation? What then?
Only time will tell. I'm trying not to think too much on this, lest I drive myself crazy. Well, more crazy. I'm hoping, obviously, that this is the mixed episode and as I get to the therapeutic dose of Geodon it'll get better.
Because if not, I'm screwed.
And not the good kind of screwed. The screwed kind of screwed.
That doesn't even make sense.
This morning we went to my mom's house for breakfast and presents. It was lovely. My mom makes some kickass breakfast casserole and she's not drunk in the mornings so that's an added bonus. It was fine. It was good.
Then we went to Denver to J's aunt's house. Which was fine, but not as fine. See, there's a lot of people there. Like, 15-20. And there's noise. And apparently Clancy can't handle that much stimulation anymore.
It didn't take long before I felt overwhelmed. Trapped almost. Unable to cope. Effectively at least. I was a little withdrawn. As time went on I became irritable. I was shouting at family members in my mind. Yelling at them for their (seemingly to me) stupid comments. It was like church all over again. I became more withdrawn because I didn't want to inadvertently say what I was thinking.
About an hour before we left my mind started racing. Images, thoughts . . . all melded together, coming and leaving almost too quickly to be registered. The racing thoughts continued the whole way home. Even when I plugged in my iPod and sung along, which usually helps, the thoughts and images still came.
At home they reached a fever pitch. My mind was going so fast I couldn't hold on to a single thought. I tried writing in my mood journal and it came out as one long, nearly illegible, run on sentence. I was almost in tears my brain was so frantic. It's a horrible feeling not being in control of your thoughts. Not being able to slow them down enough to get a sentence out. Being confused with all of the images flashing through your mind, completely unrelated to one another and anything you're thinking.
I had J bring me my electronic cigarette. I did deep breathing. I ate so I could take my Geodon. I talked with J a little and texted my best friend L.
My mind is slowing which is why I'm able to type this. Not enough that I can write eloquently - it's still going fast - but at least I'm getting something out.
Yesterday and today made me realize something - I can't handle too much stimulation. It's like my brain short circuits. Too much input and it goes into overdrive and I can't cope. And when you sit back and say, well, I'm still in a mixed episode and this is to be expected, it doesn't seem too bad. But what I worry about is what if it's not entirely from the mixed episode? What if I continue to have issues like this? Issues with stress or crowds or too much visual stimulation? What then?
Only time will tell. I'm trying not to think too much on this, lest I drive myself crazy. Well, more crazy. I'm hoping, obviously, that this is the mixed episode and as I get to the therapeutic dose of Geodon it'll get better.
Because if not, I'm screwed.
And not the good kind of screwed. The screwed kind of screwed.
That doesn't even make sense.
Tuesday, December 24, 2013
It's Christmas Eve and I got pissed at church
And I don't mean I got pissed during church (well, I did, but bare with me). I got pissed at church. As in the entity of the church. The thought, the notion, the feeling, the tradition, the meaning. The church.
It pissed me off.
I'm not even sure I can explain this. Because it doesn't make sense. But I'm going to try, mostly for my own sanity and/or amusement.
J is Catholic so tonight we went to Catholic mass. Let me just throw out there that I dislike mass. I find it boring and pointless. And all the damn singing and standing and sitting and kneeling and now stand again. It needs a dislike button.
So we're sitting in the pews, listening to the choir, and I started feeling irritable. At nothing. Just irritable. And this cute family, mother, father, and 6 month old or so son sat a couple pews ahead of us.
I hated them.
For no reason. Then her friend or sister showed up with her husband and two kids and I hated them equally as much. Look at these two families, all happy and festive, enjoying themselves in church. Fuck them. I shot daggers at them with my eyes.
An elderly gentleman sat next to the second couple - a little to close for what my personal bubble would be - and I fumed. I screamed at him in my mind that he was sitting to close and why the fuck are you not following social boundaries??? You have a whole fucking pew and you had to sit that close??
More singing. Where the fuck is the damn priest? Why is the singing not stopping? Oh, now we have to stand. Good.
I fumed. I looked around the congregation at all the people, hundreds of faces. Everyone seemed so happy and content to be spending Christmas eve with their families in church.
Fuck them.
Catholic mass on Christmas eve is the same every year. I swear that it's exactly the same. And tonight everything about it was adding fuel to the fire. My irrational anger, my irritability and rage were completely out of place - and confusing. I don't know why I was feeling the way I was. But I was and I didn't like it. I couldn't seem to stop it though.
So I did what I always do and tried to overanalyze the situation. Not much - just a little. All I could come up with was that I don't really like Christmas and that I'm still in a mixed episode.
Yep. Despite what I wish and what I'd like others to think, I'm still actually in a mixed episode. Not crazy from meds - that bit is over - but still mixed.
The entire time at church my mind was racing. And I mean racing. Flight of ideas, racing swirling thoughts about nothing and everything and the house and dog and mucking stalls and dolphins and bipolar and my wedding and friend's wedding and my bridesmaid's dresses were blue and T's were lavender and a flock of pigeons take flight and there's a fountain when should we take down the treewe'rehavingsandwichesonfridayatafriendshouseand. . . . . . It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop.
I couldn't shut up my mind. And that contributed to my irritability. And driving home, it continued. And I said a few random outbursts of ideas and thoughts that may or may not have had anything to do with each other. And I laughed.
I felt like I was going to laugh hysterically and cry uncontrollably at the same time. I felt like I would explode.
Instead of exploding, which would be messy, I went to the bathroom and took my meds. Tonight I increased my dose of Geodon. I was told when I left the hospital that if I was experiencing irritability in the afternoon or evenings to increase my dose. So I did. 80mg instead of 40mg.
I'm writing this under the influence of my racing mind which is gradually slowing thanks to the increased dose. I'm starting to get drowsy. I'm going to be honest - I don't know if what I've written makes much sense. But I'm not going to go back and read it. Because drowsy.
Night y'all. Have a Merry Christmas or whatever the hell you celebrate.
It pissed me off.
I'm not even sure I can explain this. Because it doesn't make sense. But I'm going to try, mostly for my own sanity and/or amusement.
J is Catholic so tonight we went to Catholic mass. Let me just throw out there that I dislike mass. I find it boring and pointless. And all the damn singing and standing and sitting and kneeling and now stand again. It needs a dislike button.
So we're sitting in the pews, listening to the choir, and I started feeling irritable. At nothing. Just irritable. And this cute family, mother, father, and 6 month old or so son sat a couple pews ahead of us.
I hated them.
For no reason. Then her friend or sister showed up with her husband and two kids and I hated them equally as much. Look at these two families, all happy and festive, enjoying themselves in church. Fuck them. I shot daggers at them with my eyes.
An elderly gentleman sat next to the second couple - a little to close for what my personal bubble would be - and I fumed. I screamed at him in my mind that he was sitting to close and why the fuck are you not following social boundaries??? You have a whole fucking pew and you had to sit that close??
More singing. Where the fuck is the damn priest? Why is the singing not stopping? Oh, now we have to stand. Good.
I fumed. I looked around the congregation at all the people, hundreds of faces. Everyone seemed so happy and content to be spending Christmas eve with their families in church.
Fuck them.
Catholic mass on Christmas eve is the same every year. I swear that it's exactly the same. And tonight everything about it was adding fuel to the fire. My irrational anger, my irritability and rage were completely out of place - and confusing. I don't know why I was feeling the way I was. But I was and I didn't like it. I couldn't seem to stop it though.
So I did what I always do and tried to overanalyze the situation. Not much - just a little. All I could come up with was that I don't really like Christmas and that I'm still in a mixed episode.
Yep. Despite what I wish and what I'd like others to think, I'm still actually in a mixed episode. Not crazy from meds - that bit is over - but still mixed.
The entire time at church my mind was racing. And I mean racing. Flight of ideas, racing swirling thoughts about nothing and everything and the house and dog and mucking stalls and dolphins and bipolar and my wedding and friend's wedding and my bridesmaid's dresses were blue and T's were lavender and a flock of pigeons take flight and there's a fountain when should we take down the treewe'rehavingsandwichesonfridayatafriendshouseand. . . . . . It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't stop.
I couldn't shut up my mind. And that contributed to my irritability. And driving home, it continued. And I said a few random outbursts of ideas and thoughts that may or may not have had anything to do with each other. And I laughed.
I felt like I was going to laugh hysterically and cry uncontrollably at the same time. I felt like I would explode.
Instead of exploding, which would be messy, I went to the bathroom and took my meds. Tonight I increased my dose of Geodon. I was told when I left the hospital that if I was experiencing irritability in the afternoon or evenings to increase my dose. So I did. 80mg instead of 40mg.
I'm writing this under the influence of my racing mind which is gradually slowing thanks to the increased dose. I'm starting to get drowsy. I'm going to be honest - I don't know if what I've written makes much sense. But I'm not going to go back and read it. Because drowsy.
Night y'all. Have a Merry Christmas or whatever the hell you celebrate.
Monday, December 16, 2013
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
So I stopped my Zyprexa . . .
And HOORAY!!! My mixed episode is BACK! Full swing!
I was started on Zyprexa 3 weeks ago while I was in the hospital for mania from my mixed episode. I experienced VERY noticeable cognitive deficits - to where I didn't feel safe working (delivering babies). So I stopped taking the Zyprexa on my own without consulting anyone (because I'm a rebel, people).
It's been 5 days without it and my mixed episode is back. Sooooo excited. I randomly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably for 15-20 minutes. It passes in an instant and my mood moves on. Yesterday, in a delivery, hypomania struck. And it was bad. Like, if this family wasn't so awesome and did't think I was the most hilarious thing in the world and should do stand up comedy, I could have been suspended or FIRED bad. And I couldn't stop laughing.
At all.
I left the room in near hysterics because everything was just so damn FUNNY. And like I said, I'm lucky this family thought everything I said was hilarious - they loved me.. Thank God for small favors!
Like me being hilarious.
So I figured I ought to get help before I go completely off the deep end and end up in the hospital again. My pdoc is going out of the country tomorrow, but I was able to get an appointment today. Go me. I'm nervous because I know he'll want to do another antipsychotic and I have a feeling I'll have all the same side effects (the cognitive deficits weren't the only side effects - I also got a face and neck full of acne, insatiable hunger, gas . . . pretty freaking awesome stuff, if you ask me). And I just can't deal with all that.
But I'm guessing I have no choice. We'll see what he says. What I think I'd really like is a med holiday. Stop everything, detox, and start again. It's just that pesky 90-95% chance that I'll go completely psychotic off my meds. Maybe I'll be that 5-10% . . .
Probably not.
I'm also a bit hypo right now, so I'm enjoying myself greatly. Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.
I was started on Zyprexa 3 weeks ago while I was in the hospital for mania from my mixed episode. I experienced VERY noticeable cognitive deficits - to where I didn't feel safe working (delivering babies). So I stopped taking the Zyprexa on my own without consulting anyone (because I'm a rebel, people).
It's been 5 days without it and my mixed episode is back. Sooooo excited. I randomly burst into tears, sobbing uncontrollably for 15-20 minutes. It passes in an instant and my mood moves on. Yesterday, in a delivery, hypomania struck. And it was bad. Like, if this family wasn't so awesome and did't think I was the most hilarious thing in the world and should do stand up comedy, I could have been suspended or FIRED bad. And I couldn't stop laughing.
At all.
I left the room in near hysterics because everything was just so damn FUNNY. And like I said, I'm lucky this family thought everything I said was hilarious - they loved me.. Thank God for small favors!
Like me being hilarious.
So I figured I ought to get help before I go completely off the deep end and end up in the hospital again. My pdoc is going out of the country tomorrow, but I was able to get an appointment today. Go me. I'm nervous because I know he'll want to do another antipsychotic and I have a feeling I'll have all the same side effects (the cognitive deficits weren't the only side effects - I also got a face and neck full of acne, insatiable hunger, gas . . . pretty freaking awesome stuff, if you ask me). And I just can't deal with all that.
But I'm guessing I have no choice. We'll see what he says. What I think I'd really like is a med holiday. Stop everything, detox, and start again. It's just that pesky 90-95% chance that I'll go completely psychotic off my meds. Maybe I'll be that 5-10% . . .
Probably not.
I'm also a bit hypo right now, so I'm enjoying myself greatly. Not like that. Get your mind out of the gutter.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
I'm back.
Four days in the hospital. I'm feeling better, thank God. I was started on Zyprexa, an atypical antipsychotic. It knocked the mania down in one dose (I was given the Zytis form in the hospital - fast acting and dissolves under the tongue). I'll be on this for around a month. Well, that's the goal at least. We're also holding my Wellbutrin (as antidepressants can escalate mania).
At some point I'll write more on this, though I won't be sharing everything. For several reasons. Most notably that it will be in my book and I don't want to give away all the goods ;)
So anyway, I'm back, I'll be getting back into writing, and I'm still awesome.
Boom.
At some point I'll write more on this, though I won't be sharing everything. For several reasons. Most notably that it will be in my book and I don't want to give away all the goods ;)
So anyway, I'm back, I'll be getting back into writing, and I'm still awesome.
Boom.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Hospital Time
My blog won't be updated for about a week as I'm going to the hospital this morning. I'm in a mixed episode that is getting worse and I don't feel that I am stable. My pdoc gave me an antipsychotic yesterday that I took once, and won't take again. I felt drugged and foggy and groggy. But it was to knock down the mania and if I won't take it, well . . .
I cycled so quickly yesterday it was scary. I'll write more on that later but it's the reason I decided to go to the hospital. As much as I DO NOT want to go, I need to be safe while I get through this. I'm going from wanting to die to almost full blown mania and then back again.
I'll write when I get back. Have a good week.
I'll see you on the flipside* . . .
. . . . *Boondock Saints ref. Just so you know.
I cycled so quickly yesterday it was scary. I'll write more on that later but it's the reason I decided to go to the hospital. As much as I DO NOT want to go, I need to be safe while I get through this. I'm going from wanting to die to almost full blown mania and then back again.
I'll write when I get back. Have a good week.
I'll see you on the flipside* . . .
. . . . *Boondock Saints ref. Just so you know.
Tuesday, November 19, 2013
Tuesday morning
It's Tuesday morning. In case you couldn't figure that out on your own. You're welcome.
It's about 0920 right now and I have therapy in an hour. I both need therapy today but I'm also anxious about it. My mind is racing a bit at the moment and I feel shaky and fidgety. I woke up feeling okay. Not great, not bad . . . just okay. Which is fine. Then I started to feel a little down. Then I almost burst into tears for no good reason.
As I type this, I feel like I could burst into tear right now. For no reason. I'm slightly down. Not depressed, no feelings of despair or hopelessness. Just a little down. But I feel like I could cry and my mind is going 500 directions at once. I can't even quite figure out what to write or how to word it and thank GOD for spell check.
I'm nervous. My last post was written on Sunday morning. When I was a little hypo but otherwise okay. Sunday afternoon and evening were a different story. We went and saw Thor 2 (which gave me Loki feels and is a good movie, btw) and then went grocery shopping. Within minutes of leaving the theater, I crashed. Hard.
Scary hard.
I tried not to show it and I failed. Miserably. J told me to stop dwelling on whatever it was I was dwelling on. He was trying to be helpful. It only made me bitchier. Because I wasn't dwelling on anything. I literally had no discernible thought in my head. Nothing. Only feeling. And what I was feeling was horrible. Despair, hopelessness, worthlessness, pain, emptiness, hate, profound sadness, and the thought that I really shouldn't go on. That I couldn't do this again. I wanted to not exist.
And that terrified me. So much so I was contemplating admitting myself to the hospital.
But I don't want to do that. I really don't. So I tried to be better. I talked, I tried engaging, I did everything I could to fake it to bring myself up. J started assaulting me (in a good way, y'all. Playfully pushing me, holding me, acting like a loon). My mood only lifted slightly.
I painted when we got home while J worked on the yard. Still yucky. Had dinner. Still yucky. Ever so slightly better, but still yucky.
And then *poof*, I felt okay. *Poof*. The fog lifted and I was okay. And I joked a little. And I laid on the couch with J to watch the Bronco game. And I was relieved and exhausted. I couldn't make it through the whole game because I was so emotionally exhausted.
Of course, I couldn't sleep either. Tried reading a bit. Didn't help. So I laid in bed with my racing thoughts focused on nothing.
Well, it's 0950 now. Thirty minutes to right just a tiny bit because my brain is so scattered. Off to the bathroom, and then therapy.
It's about 0920 right now and I have therapy in an hour. I both need therapy today but I'm also anxious about it. My mind is racing a bit at the moment and I feel shaky and fidgety. I woke up feeling okay. Not great, not bad . . . just okay. Which is fine. Then I started to feel a little down. Then I almost burst into tears for no good reason.
As I type this, I feel like I could burst into tear right now. For no reason. I'm slightly down. Not depressed, no feelings of despair or hopelessness. Just a little down. But I feel like I could cry and my mind is going 500 directions at once. I can't even quite figure out what to write or how to word it and thank GOD for spell check.
I'm nervous. My last post was written on Sunday morning. When I was a little hypo but otherwise okay. Sunday afternoon and evening were a different story. We went and saw Thor 2 (which gave me Loki feels and is a good movie, btw) and then went grocery shopping. Within minutes of leaving the theater, I crashed. Hard.
Scary hard.
I tried not to show it and I failed. Miserably. J told me to stop dwelling on whatever it was I was dwelling on. He was trying to be helpful. It only made me bitchier. Because I wasn't dwelling on anything. I literally had no discernible thought in my head. Nothing. Only feeling. And what I was feeling was horrible. Despair, hopelessness, worthlessness, pain, emptiness, hate, profound sadness, and the thought that I really shouldn't go on. That I couldn't do this again. I wanted to not exist.
And that terrified me. So much so I was contemplating admitting myself to the hospital.
But I don't want to do that. I really don't. So I tried to be better. I talked, I tried engaging, I did everything I could to fake it to bring myself up. J started assaulting me (in a good way, y'all. Playfully pushing me, holding me, acting like a loon). My mood only lifted slightly.
I painted when we got home while J worked on the yard. Still yucky. Had dinner. Still yucky. Ever so slightly better, but still yucky.
And then *poof*, I felt okay. *Poof*. The fog lifted and I was okay. And I joked a little. And I laid on the couch with J to watch the Bronco game. And I was relieved and exhausted. I couldn't make it through the whole game because I was so emotionally exhausted.
Of course, I couldn't sleep either. Tried reading a bit. Didn't help. So I laid in bed with my racing thoughts focused on nothing.
Well, it's 0950 now. Thirty minutes to right just a tiny bit because my brain is so scattered. Off to the bathroom, and then therapy.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
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.
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.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Thursday
So it's Thursday. And that's not terribly exciting in and of itself. But am on call, which is nice. I really didn't want to work today - especially after how the last 3 days have gone.
Yesterday I was rapid cycling again. I spent all morning near tears. I cried in the parking lot at work, teared up in the elevator, and was close all morning. Around 3 I started to level off. Around 5 I was hypo manic. By the time I got home I had crashed.
It's starting to become a pattern.
Which is why I'm glad I'm on call. I have 5 days off after today, so this will make 6 days off! (Yay! I can do math!) I need this time off. Hopefully it will help. The whole "rapid cycling" thing just isn't working for me.
Yesterday I was rapid cycling again. I spent all morning near tears. I cried in the parking lot at work, teared up in the elevator, and was close all morning. Around 3 I started to level off. Around 5 I was hypo manic. By the time I got home I had crashed.
It's starting to become a pattern.
Which is why I'm glad I'm on call. I have 5 days off after today, so this will make 6 days off! (Yay! I can do math!) I need this time off. Hopefully it will help. The whole "rapid cycling" thing just isn't working for me.
Tuesday, November 12, 2013
Had a breakdown today
Yesterday at work was a roller coaster. All morning I was down, near tears over everything. I tried to scan something to pharmacy - it wouldn't go through. My eyes welled up, my lip quivered, I had to go hide. I didn't cry - not all day, not once. But I needed to.
Around 3pm, hello hypo mania!!! Uncontrolled, unrelenting hypo mania. It was bad. I was loud, I was inappropriate, I had to be the center of attention. Now, keep in mind that I'm an RN. On the L&D unit. Delivering babies. And I was anything but professional. One of the physicians, whom, luckily, I can really joke with, got a kick out of my behavior. He escalated me. There was a paramedic student. I inquired as to whether or not he watched midget porn.
Midget porn, people. Who does that?? Me, apparently.
So I went from depressed and in tears to oh-my-god-look-at-me-I'm-amazing-and-there's-a-butterfly-and-oh-yeah-porn-and-shit. Not great when entering patient's rooms to catch a baby.
But I made it through and I laughed about how crazy I was. And then today happened. This morning happened. I had to go to a leadership class called LEAP - because I'm a charge nurse and my manager thinks I make a "good leader" (who's the crazy one now!!). The class is at our main hospital downtown. Driving there . . . the depression was starting to creep in. I cranked up the music and sang along and reminded myself that I got to play with horses and disabled kids this afternoon (I volunteer at a therapeutic riding center).
But then I parked. And I lost it. I sobbed uncontrollably. The "ugly cry". The one where you get snot all over the bloody place and your mascara runs making you look like a rabid raccoon. Yeah. That one. And it was seemingly for no reason. It came out of nowhere - la la la, this song is cool - NO! SCREW YOU! LET'S CRY!! It was full of pain and despair and darkness and hopelessness.
And I don't know why.
I've been wondering if I'm starting to rapid cycle. I don't know. I have no idea. I don't want to tell my hubby or friends because I don't want them to think I'm self-sabotaging. That I'm perpetuating something that's not there. Yes, I've done that in the past. I've admitted it. I've been working on stopping that cycle and adopting better coping mechanisms. And I've been succeeding in doing that. I was getting better.
And then this. And I'm trying not to catastrophize this. Because yes, I've been feeling more and more out of sorts the last few weeks. And yes, yesterday and today were exceedingly bad mood wise, but that doesn't mean tomorrow will be that way too.
Right?
Around 3pm, hello hypo mania!!! Uncontrolled, unrelenting hypo mania. It was bad. I was loud, I was inappropriate, I had to be the center of attention. Now, keep in mind that I'm an RN. On the L&D unit. Delivering babies. And I was anything but professional. One of the physicians, whom, luckily, I can really joke with, got a kick out of my behavior. He escalated me. There was a paramedic student. I inquired as to whether or not he watched midget porn.
Midget porn, people. Who does that?? Me, apparently.
So I went from depressed and in tears to oh-my-god-look-at-me-I'm-amazing-and-there's-a-butterfly-and-oh-yeah-porn-and-shit. Not great when entering patient's rooms to catch a baby.
But I made it through and I laughed about how crazy I was. And then today happened. This morning happened. I had to go to a leadership class called LEAP - because I'm a charge nurse and my manager thinks I make a "good leader" (who's the crazy one now!!). The class is at our main hospital downtown. Driving there . . . the depression was starting to creep in. I cranked up the music and sang along and reminded myself that I got to play with horses and disabled kids this afternoon (I volunteer at a therapeutic riding center).
But then I parked. And I lost it. I sobbed uncontrollably. The "ugly cry". The one where you get snot all over the bloody place and your mascara runs making you look like a rabid raccoon. Yeah. That one. And it was seemingly for no reason. It came out of nowhere - la la la, this song is cool - NO! SCREW YOU! LET'S CRY!! It was full of pain and despair and darkness and hopelessness.
And I don't know why.
I've been wondering if I'm starting to rapid cycle. I don't know. I have no idea. I don't want to tell my hubby or friends because I don't want them to think I'm self-sabotaging. That I'm perpetuating something that's not there. Yes, I've done that in the past. I've admitted it. I've been working on stopping that cycle and adopting better coping mechanisms. And I've been succeeding in doing that. I was getting better.
And then this. And I'm trying not to catastrophize this. Because yes, I've been feeling more and more out of sorts the last few weeks. And yes, yesterday and today were exceedingly bad mood wise, but that doesn't mean tomorrow will be that way too.
Right?
Tuesday, October 1, 2013
Kinda confused . . .
So, I'm annoyed. Which, let's be honest, has been a staple emotion for me lately. Among others. But this whole "positive-fake-it-till-you-make-it-stay-in-the-moment" shit is wearing me out.
Here's my problem:
I'm supposed to stay in the moment, right? Mindfulness? This is what I've been learning with Chance and have been really trying to practice. Not worrying about the future or past. Not dwelling on things. And really working on changing my manner of thinking.
Well, that's all well and good, except when my mood is down. When there's that hint of depression sinking in. Because alright, I'm down, I'm in the moment, I'm experiencing it, acknowledging it, not over thinking it and then move on. But my mood is still down. So I'm in the moment, experiencing, acknowledging, not over thinking and I move on. But my mood is still down. I'm sure you can see where this is going.
So I'm down, and I'm in the moment, so let's be positive! Let's think positive! Let's join a conversation, get up and move, write down things to be thankful for! But my mood is still down. Now, I'm supposed to be in the moment and experiencing my emotions as they're happening. So I'm doing good in that regard. Yep, I'm down. I get it. But I can't let myself stay down. Because that can start the downward spiral I'm desperately trying to avoid. And how long is too long to "stay in the moment" of that down mood? When should I worry?
You know what happens next? I get frustrated. Because I don't know the answer. So I try and stay in the moment and do positive things to get away from that down mood. Occasionally, that's worked. The past almost week and a half, it hasn't. So now I'm down, and frustrated, and I'm trying to stay in the moment while trying to change the moment and that's tiring. And confusing. And I beat myself up over it because I'm probably making this too hard and I can't seem to figure it out.
I know I'm more depressive by nature. I know this. I'm trying to change this. But this has been so GOD DAMNED HARD it's not even funny. Another frustrating thing? I feel like I'm overall doing better. That I've made strides. That slowly (very slowly) I'm getting there.
But J doesn't see that. He says that at times I'm a little more talkative. That's it. Which, me being me, I take as maybe I'm not doing as well as I thought. Which is a toxic thought. I try and ignore that, but it likes to fester in the back of my mind.
I guess I just hate that I seem to be going in circles like a hamster on its wheel, accomplishing nothing. I have to break this cycle and, quite frankly, I have no idea how.
I also think I'm in a mixed episode. That doesn't help.
Here's my problem:
I'm supposed to stay in the moment, right? Mindfulness? This is what I've been learning with Chance and have been really trying to practice. Not worrying about the future or past. Not dwelling on things. And really working on changing my manner of thinking.
Well, that's all well and good, except when my mood is down. When there's that hint of depression sinking in. Because alright, I'm down, I'm in the moment, I'm experiencing it, acknowledging it, not over thinking it and then move on. But my mood is still down. So I'm in the moment, experiencing, acknowledging, not over thinking and I move on. But my mood is still down. I'm sure you can see where this is going.
So I'm down, and I'm in the moment, so let's be positive! Let's think positive! Let's join a conversation, get up and move, write down things to be thankful for! But my mood is still down. Now, I'm supposed to be in the moment and experiencing my emotions as they're happening. So I'm doing good in that regard. Yep, I'm down. I get it. But I can't let myself stay down. Because that can start the downward spiral I'm desperately trying to avoid. And how long is too long to "stay in the moment" of that down mood? When should I worry?
You know what happens next? I get frustrated. Because I don't know the answer. So I try and stay in the moment and do positive things to get away from that down mood. Occasionally, that's worked. The past almost week and a half, it hasn't. So now I'm down, and frustrated, and I'm trying to stay in the moment while trying to change the moment and that's tiring. And confusing. And I beat myself up over it because I'm probably making this too hard and I can't seem to figure it out.
I know I'm more depressive by nature. I know this. I'm trying to change this. But this has been so GOD DAMNED HARD it's not even funny. Another frustrating thing? I feel like I'm overall doing better. That I've made strides. That slowly (very slowly) I'm getting there.
But J doesn't see that. He says that at times I'm a little more talkative. That's it. Which, me being me, I take as maybe I'm not doing as well as I thought. Which is a toxic thought. I try and ignore that, but it likes to fester in the back of my mind.
I guess I just hate that I seem to be going in circles like a hamster on its wheel, accomplishing nothing. I have to break this cycle and, quite frankly, I have no idea how.
I also think I'm in a mixed episode. That doesn't help.
Monday, September 23, 2013
Rough Day
I'm not exactly sure where I want to go with this post. It's been a weird week for me. Some hypomanic moments, a day of extreme rapid cycling, feeling down and withdrawn. You name it, I experienced it. Most of the time was okay. A lot of my mood shifts were normal. Some were not. Some were true bipolar mood swings. I managed those as well as I could. Even my rapid cycling day. I experienced each mood swing (there were many drastic ones), managed it, and moved on. I didn't catastrophize, I didn't let myself spiral. And I was proud of myself for that. Very proud.
It's funny though, those times where I had a bipolar swing for the worse, I managed and moved on, but I also lingered. I stayed there, thinking that that's where I was supposed to be. In a more depressed state. It's only natural. But I didn't stay there. I moved forward. And I was proud of that.
Yesterday I was in a bit of a funk. A little down, more withdrawn than I have been (though I tried to hide that as I was at work). I think part of it was a decision I made on Friday - a decision that was difficult and that I'm grieving over. October 4th will be my last therapy day with Chance. J and N have been kinda hinting as to me finding a closure point. They didn't say anything outright and are more than happy to do whatever I need to do, but there have been some subtle hints. So I picked an end date. Right before the horses' fall break. I'm staying on as a volunteer so I'll still be with the horses, grooming, and working with them with the disabled children and adults. But it's not the same. Because I won't be with Chance, one on one, us. And I'm grieving that loss. And I think about it and I tear up. But I need to prove to N and J and to myself that I can do this and I can move on and still be okay.
I've also been thinking a lot about therapy. I've been going to weekly sessions for so long. Soooo long. I've been thinking it's time to try going every other week. Start to space out a little. I can't keep seeing M every week for the rest of my life - that won't work. So I had made the plan of talking to him about that today.
And then today. Oh boy today. A very emotionally draining day. Therapy today was an ACOA day. M spaces them out because they're so difficult. It's no fun talking about your drunk mother and how that's affected you and, let's be honest, it sucks. But talk about it we did. And I teared up many times but I didn't cry. I kept it together.
I started to feel the loss of not having the mother I needed, the mother I wanted. Grieving for not having a parent to go to. Grieving, again, over the loss of my dad. Then I told M about Chance. Another loss I'm grieving. And then, spacing out to every other week on therapy (which M agreed I was stable enough to do).
But there's a sense of loss with that, too. I know I see M every week - it's a safety net. And now that will be gone. It doesn't seem like it's that big of a deal, but to me, it is. And I'm scared. I'm scared of failing. If I can't make it going every other week, how can I expect to get better? The goal is to space out so that eventually I only go every 3 months, or 6 months, or only if I have an issue or a crisis. The point of therapy is to get better, find yourself, and move on. I need to prove to M that I can do that. To myself as well, but I feel more of an obligation to prove it to M. He's almost become the parental figure in my life. I need to show him that I'm good and capable and okay and I can do this and he can be proud of me. Everything I had to do with my mom to feel accepted, acknowledged. (I'll be writing tons more on this, I'm sure).
So I didn't cry in therapy. But I balled when I got to my truck. For 15 minutes or so. And I went to my friend L's house and talked about therapy. And started crying. And she gave me the most amazing birthday gift - a horse plushie she knitted herself. And it made me tear up and start crying (these were happy tears). And when my hubby, J, got home, I told him about therapy. And teared up and started crying. All this crying today. I'm so drained.
And you know what sucks? I feel myself giving in to these yucky feelings. These feelings of grief and loss which mimic so well the feelings of depression. I feel myself wanting to give in and have it continue. If it continues, I need therapy more frequently, I need Chance, and the yucky feelings of loss and fear go away. This is my cycle. This is what I do. I'm staring it in the face and a big part of me wants to give up and get sick again. And I can't do that. Because this time? I might not make it out alive. And in this moment, this very moment of typing this, I'm struggling. I'm so drained from today, and I feel so crappy and it's so much easier to stay here. It's an uphill battle at the moment to pull myself back up and move out of this present funk.
But I will. Because I have to prove to people that I can. And because I have to get better.
It's funny though, those times where I had a bipolar swing for the worse, I managed and moved on, but I also lingered. I stayed there, thinking that that's where I was supposed to be. In a more depressed state. It's only natural. But I didn't stay there. I moved forward. And I was proud of that.
Yesterday I was in a bit of a funk. A little down, more withdrawn than I have been (though I tried to hide that as I was at work). I think part of it was a decision I made on Friday - a decision that was difficult and that I'm grieving over. October 4th will be my last therapy day with Chance. J and N have been kinda hinting as to me finding a closure point. They didn't say anything outright and are more than happy to do whatever I need to do, but there have been some subtle hints. So I picked an end date. Right before the horses' fall break. I'm staying on as a volunteer so I'll still be with the horses, grooming, and working with them with the disabled children and adults. But it's not the same. Because I won't be with Chance, one on one, us. And I'm grieving that loss. And I think about it and I tear up. But I need to prove to N and J and to myself that I can do this and I can move on and still be okay.
I've also been thinking a lot about therapy. I've been going to weekly sessions for so long. Soooo long. I've been thinking it's time to try going every other week. Start to space out a little. I can't keep seeing M every week for the rest of my life - that won't work. So I had made the plan of talking to him about that today.
And then today. Oh boy today. A very emotionally draining day. Therapy today was an ACOA day. M spaces them out because they're so difficult. It's no fun talking about your drunk mother and how that's affected you and, let's be honest, it sucks. But talk about it we did. And I teared up many times but I didn't cry. I kept it together.
I started to feel the loss of not having the mother I needed, the mother I wanted. Grieving for not having a parent to go to. Grieving, again, over the loss of my dad. Then I told M about Chance. Another loss I'm grieving. And then, spacing out to every other week on therapy (which M agreed I was stable enough to do).
But there's a sense of loss with that, too. I know I see M every week - it's a safety net. And now that will be gone. It doesn't seem like it's that big of a deal, but to me, it is. And I'm scared. I'm scared of failing. If I can't make it going every other week, how can I expect to get better? The goal is to space out so that eventually I only go every 3 months, or 6 months, or only if I have an issue or a crisis. The point of therapy is to get better, find yourself, and move on. I need to prove to M that I can do that. To myself as well, but I feel more of an obligation to prove it to M. He's almost become the parental figure in my life. I need to show him that I'm good and capable and okay and I can do this and he can be proud of me. Everything I had to do with my mom to feel accepted, acknowledged. (I'll be writing tons more on this, I'm sure).
So I didn't cry in therapy. But I balled when I got to my truck. For 15 minutes or so. And I went to my friend L's house and talked about therapy. And started crying. And she gave me the most amazing birthday gift - a horse plushie she knitted herself. And it made me tear up and start crying (these were happy tears). And when my hubby, J, got home, I told him about therapy. And teared up and started crying. All this crying today. I'm so drained.
And you know what sucks? I feel myself giving in to these yucky feelings. These feelings of grief and loss which mimic so well the feelings of depression. I feel myself wanting to give in and have it continue. If it continues, I need therapy more frequently, I need Chance, and the yucky feelings of loss and fear go away. This is my cycle. This is what I do. I'm staring it in the face and a big part of me wants to give up and get sick again. And I can't do that. Because this time? I might not make it out alive. And in this moment, this very moment of typing this, I'm struggling. I'm so drained from today, and I feel so crappy and it's so much easier to stay here. It's an uphill battle at the moment to pull myself back up and move out of this present funk.
But I will. Because I have to prove to people that I can. And because I have to get better.
Monday, September 2, 2013
A little bit about today
I'm going to write about today I think. Maybe more. I'm not sure yet.
See, today was one of those annoying days. One of those days where I feel confused, frustrated, utterly lost in my own skin. One of those days I really hate the mood swings of bipolar disorder. A day where I could burst into tears at any moment for any reason or no reason. Where I have so much purposeless, nervous, kinetic energy that I don't know what to do so all I can do is sleep. And that's what I did. I took a nap. But it was short and light and I couldn't turn off my brain and I was so fidgety and just . . . UGH that I went downstairs to box. Sometimes boxing helps. Today, it didn't.
My son had a cub scout thing today. A hike in a park, geo caching, ultimate frisbee. Fun kid stuff. And fun for the kids. Me? Not so much. Today reinforced that I don't really like kids - except for my own. I'm not good with them. They annoy and confound me. My hubby? He's fabulous with them. He jumped right in there with the scout leaders, working with the kids. I stood back and felt awkward. Probably looked it, too. And I didn't want to socialize. At all. Probably because of feeling everything above, being around screaming kids, and it being bloody hot out. I think I did okay . . . except for wanting to crawl out of my skin.
Dumb thing is, if I had stayed at home, I have no idea what I would have done. I have a feeling I would have stared motionless at the wall, too overwhelmed by my feelings to do much of anything. I would have accomplished nothing. Because of this, I've been keeping my days off busy. If I have appointments, errands to run, cleaning to do . . . I can't spend time thinking about my moods. The more I'm distracted, the better I do.
I'm just frustrated. I just want to be better and not have the mood swings. I'm focused so much on not self sabotaging and stopping negative self talk that I truly expect I'll just *poof* be better and everything will work out perfectly and I'll be okay and happy. And, well, I'm shit outta luck there because sadly, that's not how the world works. That's not how bipolar works.
I know I'll have these bad days. I fucking know this. I know I'll have full on mood episodes. I fucking know that too. But I forget. Because in my mind, I should be better
That's all I got. I'm too pissy and annoyed and close to tears to write anything else. Tomorrow will be better. I got shit planned.
See, today was one of those annoying days. One of those days where I feel confused, frustrated, utterly lost in my own skin. One of those days I really hate the mood swings of bipolar disorder. A day where I could burst into tears at any moment for any reason or no reason. Where I have so much purposeless, nervous, kinetic energy that I don't know what to do so all I can do is sleep. And that's what I did. I took a nap. But it was short and light and I couldn't turn off my brain and I was so fidgety and just . . . UGH that I went downstairs to box. Sometimes boxing helps. Today, it didn't.
My son had a cub scout thing today. A hike in a park, geo caching, ultimate frisbee. Fun kid stuff. And fun for the kids. Me? Not so much. Today reinforced that I don't really like kids - except for my own. I'm not good with them. They annoy and confound me. My hubby? He's fabulous with them. He jumped right in there with the scout leaders, working with the kids. I stood back and felt awkward. Probably looked it, too. And I didn't want to socialize. At all. Probably because of feeling everything above, being around screaming kids, and it being bloody hot out. I think I did okay . . . except for wanting to crawl out of my skin.
Dumb thing is, if I had stayed at home, I have no idea what I would have done. I have a feeling I would have stared motionless at the wall, too overwhelmed by my feelings to do much of anything. I would have accomplished nothing. Because of this, I've been keeping my days off busy. If I have appointments, errands to run, cleaning to do . . . I can't spend time thinking about my moods. The more I'm distracted, the better I do.
I'm just frustrated. I just want to be better and not have the mood swings. I'm focused so much on not self sabotaging and stopping negative self talk that I truly expect I'll just *poof* be better and everything will work out perfectly and I'll be okay and happy. And, well, I'm shit outta luck there because sadly, that's not how the world works. That's not how bipolar works.
I know I'll have these bad days. I fucking know this. I know I'll have full on mood episodes. I fucking know that too. But I forget. Because in my mind, I should be better
That's all I got. I'm too pissy and annoyed and close to tears to write anything else. Tomorrow will be better. I got shit planned.
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Annoyed
Yep. I'm annoyed. Very . . . annoyed.
My main mood seems to be flat, withdrawn, indifference with no desire to interact with people and not much real happiness.
Like I'm going back to square one.
And it's very annoying. I had real genuine happiness horseback riding at the ranch and spending time with Cotton and J and the owner. I had real genuine happiness on our short vacation with J. And, VERY fleetingly, I may have real genuine happiness sporadically (maybe once or twice a day?).
But most of the time I'm just this stupid shell again. So, what changed? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. The big thing, of course, is stopping the Cymbalta. Which threw me into a mixed episode and made my moods all wonky. And by "wonky" I mean "rapid cycling bat shit crazy". Which makes it way more difficult for me to cope. So everything that I had been doing that was finally helping, isn't helping as much.
With the rapid cycling my diet kinda went to crap and I was skipping the gym. Most of the time. Now, I feel way better when I eat right and exercise regularly. So, I'm not doing this, so of course I'm not going to feel as good and I start feeling guilty about it and then I gain 8 pounds and that makes me feel worse and more guilty. Yep. Totally not helpful.
These are the things I came up with. It's not much, is it? But it's all I got right now - I can't pinpoint anything else. So yeah. Not sleeping well. Very distractable, difficulty concentrating and getting stressed more easily. Withdrawn, down, mostly flat, and I want to be left alone.
Pretty awesome.
My main mood seems to be flat, withdrawn, indifference with no desire to interact with people and not much real happiness.
Like I'm going back to square one.
And it's very annoying. I had real genuine happiness horseback riding at the ranch and spending time with Cotton and J and the owner. I had real genuine happiness on our short vacation with J. And, VERY fleetingly, I may have real genuine happiness sporadically (maybe once or twice a day?).
But most of the time I'm just this stupid shell again. So, what changed? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. The big thing, of course, is stopping the Cymbalta. Which threw me into a mixed episode and made my moods all wonky. And by "wonky" I mean "rapid cycling bat shit crazy". Which makes it way more difficult for me to cope. So everything that I had been doing that was finally helping, isn't helping as much.
With the rapid cycling my diet kinda went to crap and I was skipping the gym. Most of the time. Now, I feel way better when I eat right and exercise regularly. So, I'm not doing this, so of course I'm not going to feel as good and I start feeling guilty about it and then I gain 8 pounds and that makes me feel worse and more guilty. Yep. Totally not helpful.
These are the things I came up with. It's not much, is it? But it's all I got right now - I can't pinpoint anything else. So yeah. Not sleeping well. Very distractable, difficulty concentrating and getting stressed more easily. Withdrawn, down, mostly flat, and I want to be left alone.
Pretty awesome.
Monday, May 13, 2013
PENIS!
This post has nothing to do with penises. I just felt that that was an appropriate title.
Or not.
Let's dive right in, shall we? On Friday, I worked with Chance (therapy horse). My mind was racing and I had to speak deliberately and slowly. If I didn't, my words jumbled together because they were coming out so fast. I felt withdrawn and irritable. So I didn't really do much with Chance. I was just . . .there. I groomed him. Meticulously. He had a huge knot in his mane and I spent quite a bit of time combing it out. I talked with the therapist (Ju) and my trainer (N) while doing this. Trying to relay my state of mind and the struggles I've been having with mania. I tried to lead Chance, but I couldn't - I couldn't clear my mind and focus. So I stood there with him and brushed him, leaned on him, and was there with him. Ju and N suggested that I put my hands on him and count his breaths. I couldn't. Numbers made my brain move faster. So instead, I leaned against him, my whole body, and laid my head on his side. I tried to match my breathing with his. And I could, and my mind slowed, and I felt like crying. I felt like curling into a ball and crying.
But I didn't. I talked some more and my words came easily. I didn't have to think about each one before I spoke it. And I felt better. When I left, I made it about half a mile before I had to pull over. I was crying so hard I couldn't see. I sobbed, big, ugly, wailing sobs for 15 minutes. Horrible sobs wracked with anguish. I let them come. I think I needed it. Though I don't know why. It took me another 10 minutes or so after crying before I felt I could drive home.
The rest of the day I felt pretty crappy. And Saturday I felt crappy. Down and very irritable. More stable - not rapid mood swings like I've been having - but still crappy. And Sunday, better, stable, still irritable.
And today I've felt . . .I don't know how I've felt. Irritable as fuck. Impulsive and saying a few inappropriate things. Down. I feel again like I want to cry. I'll perk up suddenly with crazy energy and say bizarre things and then I'm back down - as if nothing at all happened. I mean within minutes.
So this has been stupid. I work the next 2 days and then it's mini vacation time in Breckenridge complete with an awesome horseback riding day. This will be good.
In other news, I'm going to slowly introduce a few select sources of gluten back into my life. Mainly whole grain breads, some baking flours. Here's the thing - I feel better physically, I do - but I think that has more to do with the fact that I'm cooking our meals from scratch - not from being gluten free. I've had regular bread twice with no noticeable side effects. I'm having regular bread again tomorrow. If I continue to not have side effects, then I will have select sources of gluten. I will continue, of course, to cook our meals from scratch.
Well, that's all for now. Time to finish my ice cream, fart around on Pinterest, and go to bed.
Or not.
Let's dive right in, shall we? On Friday, I worked with Chance (therapy horse). My mind was racing and I had to speak deliberately and slowly. If I didn't, my words jumbled together because they were coming out so fast. I felt withdrawn and irritable. So I didn't really do much with Chance. I was just . . .there. I groomed him. Meticulously. He had a huge knot in his mane and I spent quite a bit of time combing it out. I talked with the therapist (Ju) and my trainer (N) while doing this. Trying to relay my state of mind and the struggles I've been having with mania. I tried to lead Chance, but I couldn't - I couldn't clear my mind and focus. So I stood there with him and brushed him, leaned on him, and was there with him. Ju and N suggested that I put my hands on him and count his breaths. I couldn't. Numbers made my brain move faster. So instead, I leaned against him, my whole body, and laid my head on his side. I tried to match my breathing with his. And I could, and my mind slowed, and I felt like crying. I felt like curling into a ball and crying.
But I didn't. I talked some more and my words came easily. I didn't have to think about each one before I spoke it. And I felt better. When I left, I made it about half a mile before I had to pull over. I was crying so hard I couldn't see. I sobbed, big, ugly, wailing sobs for 15 minutes. Horrible sobs wracked with anguish. I let them come. I think I needed it. Though I don't know why. It took me another 10 minutes or so after crying before I felt I could drive home.
The rest of the day I felt pretty crappy. And Saturday I felt crappy. Down and very irritable. More stable - not rapid mood swings like I've been having - but still crappy. And Sunday, better, stable, still irritable.
And today I've felt . . .I don't know how I've felt. Irritable as fuck. Impulsive and saying a few inappropriate things. Down. I feel again like I want to cry. I'll perk up suddenly with crazy energy and say bizarre things and then I'm back down - as if nothing at all happened. I mean within minutes.
So this has been stupid. I work the next 2 days and then it's mini vacation time in Breckenridge complete with an awesome horseback riding day. This will be good.
In other news, I'm going to slowly introduce a few select sources of gluten back into my life. Mainly whole grain breads, some baking flours. Here's the thing - I feel better physically, I do - but I think that has more to do with the fact that I'm cooking our meals from scratch - not from being gluten free. I've had regular bread twice with no noticeable side effects. I'm having regular bread again tomorrow. If I continue to not have side effects, then I will have select sources of gluten. I will continue, of course, to cook our meals from scratch.
Well, that's all for now. Time to finish my ice cream, fart around on Pinterest, and go to bed.
Thursday, May 9, 2013
Some shit . . .
So. The hypomania thing. Getting old. Hear that Clancy? Fucking stop it. (Clancy is my brain btw, for those that don't know). It's getting bad at times. Bad.
For example, over the weekend I was at work and charge nurse. Saturday I was mostly just hyper and joking around. All fine and good. Sunday . . .yeah. Sunday was not good. I was hyper again, sure, and it escalated from there. I told one of the physicians to drop his pants so I could spank him. I said this in front of other nurses. Loudly. Who. The fuck. Does that? And I continued on. More inappropriate things were said. My only saving grace was that I had already been joking around with the labor nurses (who were around me) and that I BS with this particular physician all the time. Otherwise? This could have been bad. Very bad.
But that's not all. After that I skipped through the hallways on labor and delivery and post partum. Skipped. I was skipping y'all. All over the fucking place. Then, at the front desk on post partum I was joking with the CNA. A social worker who I've known for years came around, showing a new social worker our area. I was eating a granola bar. Half of it fell off and onto the floor. God fucking dammit!! That's what I yelled. Yelled. The social worker laughed and said "I can't believe you just yelled that!" Me? "I don't fucking believe it either!" Then I started laughing. Uncontrollably. I collapsed to the floor I was laughing so hard. I couldn't talk. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop.
Everyone watch the train wreck. I crawled to the hallway behind the front desk where my locker is. All I had was a Xanax. I hadn't put any Risperdal in my purse - I didn't think I would ever need one. So all I had was Xanax. I took it sublingually and went into my office. I sat, breathing deeply, trying to center myself, calm myself, get myself back in control. It was hard. And I was scared. My behavior was so erratic, so inappropriate . . . it was not good. The last thing I need to do is get in trouble at work.
And then today. I had therapy today. Yesterday and today I had been feeling pretty blah, flat and subdued. Cranky and irritable as hell, but otherwise subdued. I chalked it up to having a bit of a cold. So I'm talking to M, telling him about how I feel detached from my mom. Whatever. I start telling him about the weekend and the hypomania. And I start escalating. I start getting manic. Distractable. I'm talking and wait is there a guy yelling outside? Where's that van going? Look it's still raining. Oh my nose itches. What was I saying? Oh yeah <rapid vomiting of words with wild hand movements> And I tried to reel it in, I did. I tried to stop, I did. And I was having a hard time. I laughed hysterically at nothing. Nothing at all. I couldn't stop.
I finally lowered my head, near tears, because I didn't know what to do. M helped me focus, helped me breathe. I focused on Chance (my therapy horse). It helped. Greatly. Chance will be my anchor. My family is my anchor for the depression, Chance for the mania.
This is . . .too much. After the mania comes almost crippling exhaustion. And irritability. And a feeling of fear and depression and hopelessness and despair. But the exhaustion. Holy fuck. Complete and utter physical, mental and emotional exhaustion. I want to cry and pass out. And then I get pissed. And even more tired. And then comes the mania again.
This happens numerous times a day. Rapid cycling is a bitch. This is not fun. I've gotten good a being mindful and managing the depressive symptoms, but this is a whole other animal. It's harder. Partly because when I'm manic I feel good. And I've felt shitty for so fucking long that I really want - really deserve - to feel good. And so it's harder to manage it before it gets out of control.
And there's other things. I have the Ridperdal (which I have some in my purse now, lest I have another day like Sunday). But I thought about taking it all, just to see what would happen. What the fuck do I think would happen??? I would die!! The fuck?! But that thought was there and it was tempting. Easily managed and controlled, but it was there.
Some old thoughts and habits are trying to creep back in as well. Patterns of thinking. In my current state of rapid cycling I find that it's much more difficult to combat this. Ugh. There's crap happening at work that is a bit shady and unfortunate and I'm trying desperately to react appropriately and not overreact. It's difficult. If I get worked up and upset over it . . . well, that leads to the hyper-irritability and hypomania.
Fuck this shit.
Oh, and I cuss more when I'm like this. That might be obvious.
Alright. That's all I can muster up right now. I'm exhausted yet wide awake. Joy.
For example, over the weekend I was at work and charge nurse. Saturday I was mostly just hyper and joking around. All fine and good. Sunday . . .yeah. Sunday was not good. I was hyper again, sure, and it escalated from there. I told one of the physicians to drop his pants so I could spank him. I said this in front of other nurses. Loudly. Who. The fuck. Does that? And I continued on. More inappropriate things were said. My only saving grace was that I had already been joking around with the labor nurses (who were around me) and that I BS with this particular physician all the time. Otherwise? This could have been bad. Very bad.
But that's not all. After that I skipped through the hallways on labor and delivery and post partum. Skipped. I was skipping y'all. All over the fucking place. Then, at the front desk on post partum I was joking with the CNA. A social worker who I've known for years came around, showing a new social worker our area. I was eating a granola bar. Half of it fell off and onto the floor. God fucking dammit!! That's what I yelled. Yelled. The social worker laughed and said "I can't believe you just yelled that!" Me? "I don't fucking believe it either!" Then I started laughing. Uncontrollably. I collapsed to the floor I was laughing so hard. I couldn't talk. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't stop.
Everyone watch the train wreck. I crawled to the hallway behind the front desk where my locker is. All I had was a Xanax. I hadn't put any Risperdal in my purse - I didn't think I would ever need one. So all I had was Xanax. I took it sublingually and went into my office. I sat, breathing deeply, trying to center myself, calm myself, get myself back in control. It was hard. And I was scared. My behavior was so erratic, so inappropriate . . . it was not good. The last thing I need to do is get in trouble at work.
And then today. I had therapy today. Yesterday and today I had been feeling pretty blah, flat and subdued. Cranky and irritable as hell, but otherwise subdued. I chalked it up to having a bit of a cold. So I'm talking to M, telling him about how I feel detached from my mom. Whatever. I start telling him about the weekend and the hypomania. And I start escalating. I start getting manic. Distractable. I'm talking and wait is there a guy yelling outside? Where's that van going? Look it's still raining. Oh my nose itches. What was I saying? Oh yeah <rapid vomiting of words with wild hand movements> And I tried to reel it in, I did. I tried to stop, I did. And I was having a hard time. I laughed hysterically at nothing. Nothing at all. I couldn't stop.
I finally lowered my head, near tears, because I didn't know what to do. M helped me focus, helped me breathe. I focused on Chance (my therapy horse). It helped. Greatly. Chance will be my anchor. My family is my anchor for the depression, Chance for the mania.
This is . . .too much. After the mania comes almost crippling exhaustion. And irritability. And a feeling of fear and depression and hopelessness and despair. But the exhaustion. Holy fuck. Complete and utter physical, mental and emotional exhaustion. I want to cry and pass out. And then I get pissed. And even more tired. And then comes the mania again.
This happens numerous times a day. Rapid cycling is a bitch. This is not fun. I've gotten good a being mindful and managing the depressive symptoms, but this is a whole other animal. It's harder. Partly because when I'm manic I feel good. And I've felt shitty for so fucking long that I really want - really deserve - to feel good. And so it's harder to manage it before it gets out of control.
And there's other things. I have the Ridperdal (which I have some in my purse now, lest I have another day like Sunday). But I thought about taking it all, just to see what would happen. What the fuck do I think would happen??? I would die!! The fuck?! But that thought was there and it was tempting. Easily managed and controlled, but it was there.
Some old thoughts and habits are trying to creep back in as well. Patterns of thinking. In my current state of rapid cycling I find that it's much more difficult to combat this. Ugh. There's crap happening at work that is a bit shady and unfortunate and I'm trying desperately to react appropriately and not overreact. It's difficult. If I get worked up and upset over it . . . well, that leads to the hyper-irritability and hypomania.
Fuck this shit.
Oh, and I cuss more when I'm like this. That might be obvious.
Alright. That's all I can muster up right now. I'm exhausted yet wide awake. Joy.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Wait, what?
Wow. Four days without a post! How crazy is that? Not that crazy, I guess. I think cats are crazier than that.
I've been a bit too busy and a bit too tired to write. I've been painting (surprise) and did sew a commission zombie bunny. Go me! And then work - training as charge nurse, which I've pretty much just taken over doing.
Mood wise has been interesting. Ups and downs daily and sometimes hourly. I never know how I'm going to feel one moment to the next. I'm just . . .everywhere. Today I went from slightly depressed and withdrawn to downright hypomanic and everywhere in between. It's frustrating.
Also? I've been having auditory hallucinations! Which is a lot of fun. Really.
Or not. It's a bit terrifying, actually. I've been hearing clicks and whirring and chimes and bells and metal on metal scraping. Yesterday when I got home from the gym, I went to unlock the garage door. Well you know that sound when you put the key in the lock and turn it? Yeah. That's what I heard. When I was doing nothing but standing there. And it wouldn't stop. Not until I put my key in the lock to actually unlock the door. And today at work I heard a girl singing. I looked everywhere (I was at the front desk) and no little girl. Or boy. Or people, for that matter. I heard it again and a coworker of mine did not. It creeped me the fuck out. And writing this I heard a loud, almost vibrating guttural growl.
I've also heard extra voices singing along with the radio/my ipod music. A very clear aberration of what I usually hear. Those extra voices should not be there.
So it's been pretty awesome. I'm going to tell M about it tomorrow and see what he thinks. I'm guessing he'll want me to email Dr. C about it, which I really don't want to do. I don't want any more meds. I don't want anything more to be going on.
Why can't the voices tell me how awesome I am? And give me the winning lotto numbers? And help me write my book? Maybe they could deal with my annoying patients and coworkers too . . . Or at least make me a sandwich. I don't know if voices can do that. But they should.
I've been a bit too busy and a bit too tired to write. I've been painting (surprise) and did sew a commission zombie bunny. Go me! And then work - training as charge nurse, which I've pretty much just taken over doing.
Mood wise has been interesting. Ups and downs daily and sometimes hourly. I never know how I'm going to feel one moment to the next. I'm just . . .everywhere. Today I went from slightly depressed and withdrawn to downright hypomanic and everywhere in between. It's frustrating.
Also? I've been having auditory hallucinations! Which is a lot of fun. Really.
Or not. It's a bit terrifying, actually. I've been hearing clicks and whirring and chimes and bells and metal on metal scraping. Yesterday when I got home from the gym, I went to unlock the garage door. Well you know that sound when you put the key in the lock and turn it? Yeah. That's what I heard. When I was doing nothing but standing there. And it wouldn't stop. Not until I put my key in the lock to actually unlock the door. And today at work I heard a girl singing. I looked everywhere (I was at the front desk) and no little girl. Or boy. Or people, for that matter. I heard it again and a coworker of mine did not. It creeped me the fuck out. And writing this I heard a loud, almost vibrating guttural growl.
I've also heard extra voices singing along with the radio/my ipod music. A very clear aberration of what I usually hear. Those extra voices should not be there.
So it's been pretty awesome. I'm going to tell M about it tomorrow and see what he thinks. I'm guessing he'll want me to email Dr. C about it, which I really don't want to do. I don't want any more meds. I don't want anything more to be going on.
Why can't the voices tell me how awesome I am? And give me the winning lotto numbers? And help me write my book? Maybe they could deal with my annoying patients and coworkers too . . . Or at least make me a sandwich. I don't know if voices can do that. But they should.
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