Procrastinating . . .

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

Wait.

Let's go further back.

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

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

That's right. Food poisoning.

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

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

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

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

Nope.

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

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

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

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

Yeah, well, I probably don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

Stuck

You see that cow? That cow is me. Although, if I was going to be a cow I'd be one of the black and white dairy cows because I find them way cuter. Anyway, that cow is me. Stuck.

I'm in full blown depression again thanks to med tweaking. The last 3 days have been a complete hell of apathy, sadness, crippling depression, hopelessness, and constant crying. In short, it has sucked. The past 3 days I haven't known how I was possibly going to make it through the day. I did, obviously, but I marvel that I was able to pull it off (it helps that my track record for making it through shitty days is 100% . . . think about it).

When I'm not balling my eyes out I'm stuck in this no-man's-land of complete apathy. I don't care about anything. I don't want to do anything. I could just stare off into space or at the wall and that would be perfectly fine with me. Or I could sleep to escape everything (which doesn't work for me because my body seems to have forgotten how to nap).

This is the part of depression I think that many people forget. It's easy to pay attention to the person in pain who is sobbing uncontrollably or who is suicidal. But to look at me today, right now, you may balk at the idea of me being depressed. Because I'm not actively showing it.

Here's my day so far: I drug myself out of bed at 8 for the sole reason that I had to pee. Once up, I decided it would be better for me to just stay up, rather than just lying around in bed. I came out to the living room and sat on the couch. I then proceeded to stare off into space for about 30 minutes. You need to do something, I told myself. Okay, alright, I'll make coffee and check my email. That killed about 5 minutes. I sat back down on the couch and stared at my coffee cup for about another 30 minutes. You should do something. Okay, what? Go to the gym, clean the bathrooms, shower, get your son from Grandma's who YOU HAVEN'T SEEN FOR 3 DAYS BECAUSE YOU CAN'T EVEN COPE WITH THINGS!!! That's too much work. I don't care. So I got on the computer and got on Pinterest fro 20 minutes, not even paying much attention to what I was scrolling through.

I won't work out today because putting on gym clothes is too much work. Seriously. That, and I don't care. I'm going to do my best to clean the bathrooms - not because I want to or need to or have the energy to, but because I don't want my hubby to judge me for not accomplishing anything. However, if I don't get it done? I don't care. I want to go to the grocery store and get strawberries and a pineapple but that will involve me showering and leaving the house. And interacting with people. This, I probably will do because my craving for strawberries and pineapple is great. So that's one thing. (but how long will it take me to get showered?)

Now the hard thing . . . picking up my son from Grandma's house. He's been over there since Sunday. He's spent the night every night. My mother-in-law is watching him because I haven't been able to cope with things. Like being around my son. I want to see him, truly, I do, but I'm worried about breaking down in front of him. I'm worried about how I'll act around him (bitchy and snippy and short-tempered is my guess). He's 7 - he doesn't deserve that.

My apathy is pronounced. I don't want to do anything. I don't care about anything. Everything that used to bring me joy (family, drawing, painting, sewing . . .) doesn't anymore. At. All. I'd do just as well staring at the wall. I forced myself to paint yesterday and I felt nothing doing it. Just going through the motions. I'm just going through the motions with everything.

It's easy to see "how depressed" I am when I'm crying. When I'm laying on the floor sobbing and wanting to die. It's obvious then. But at times like this, when I'm emotionally walled up and apathetic, it's a bit more difficult. It's just as bad right now, it's just not as raw. And I can certainly hide it better in this state (which I hope I can do at work tomorrow).

So I'm stuck. I'm stuck in this depressive, apathetic state, which is no fun at all. And even though I'm trying to do things differently so I can change this, I almost don't care enough to do that.

Almost.

Hey I'm at work!

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

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

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

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

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

And yet I am.

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

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

Guilty

So here's something stupid: I feel guilty sleeping. You read that right.

I feel guilty sleeping.

Let me try to explain this. Do you remember back in July when I overdosed on Risperdal? You don't? Well, go read this. It'll help this post make more sense. Don't worry - I'll wait.

Did you read it? Did you really?

Okay. So, my sleeping has been "off" since I've been on the Geodon. My first night on it I was a zombie. I could hardly keep my eyes open in the hospital during visitation hour (I was falling asleep on my husband). The next 2 nights were actually pretty good. Then I went up on the dose. The first night I was a little drowsy. Okay, not bad. That following morning I was very groggy, lightheaded. I felt like I was going to faint. But it passed. That night (the night before last), I slept only 3 hours. I was a little groggy yesterday morning, but not bad. And last night I slept 5 hours. This morning, only slightly groggy.

Now, why do I feel guilty about this?

Because all of this reminds me of how I felt while in my Risperdal induced coma.

My first night on Geodon, with not being able to stay awake but desperately trying to - just like my first few hours on the Risperdal.

Two mornings ago feeling groggy and lightheaded and like I was going to pass out - that's how I felt during the night and next day on the Risperdal.

Last night, the time that I did sleep, it was like I was only dozing, waking up groggy and feeling . . . weird - like I spent the entire day on Risperdal.

The day and a half I spent in and out of consciousness on Risperdal was possibly the most terrifying and shameful time of my life. Terrifying because of how I felt, what was going through my mind, I could have died. All I wanted was to sleep and I could have died. Shameful because my hubby and son had to watch me and deal with me in this semi-comatose stupor.

I hated myself. I truly hated myself.

And my sleeping habits right now remind me of this time. This time where I was terrified, depressed, and full of self loathing.

I know my body needs to adjust to the Geodon and that in time it will. I know that I haven't done anything stupid or bad. I haven't taken or done anything I shouldn't have. I know this.

But it doesn't change how I feel. So I feel guilty and bad and a little scared.

But mostly guilty.

Which is stupid.

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?

Just a quickie.

No, not that kind. Get your head outta the gutter.

I've had lots on my mind lately. Trying to sort out my anger issues as of late, the feeling of almost being in tears most of the time, feeling overwhelmed with everything. It's frustrating, it's annoying. I'm also wrestling with knowing that I'm having another ACOA talk in therapy next week. I need to. I need to get through this and move on but holy FUCK is it gonna suck. I'll be writing more on this, at some point, just not now. Gotta sort it out still.

Right now I'm actually writing for a mini vent. See, J is in kinda a foul mood. Just an off day for him. Everyone has them (I swear the whole last year and a half has been nothing but off days for me). He's been working hard, doing stuff around the house and I get it.

But my problem is that I let the moods of other people influence my mood and bring me down. First, with J especially, I think it's my fault. He tells me it's not, just an off day. But won't elaborate. Then, for some unknown reason, the fact that he's down makes me resentful, then annoyed, and then down myself. Then I withdraw and want to be alone.

Which is where I am now. I didn't really have a breakfast (coffee, yogurt, handful of chocolate covered pretzels), didn't eat lunch (well, a slice of cheese), and I don't want to eat dinner. I don't care. I don't care if I eat or not. I get like this when I feel like this. Fuck you food!! *holds middle fingers out triumphantly*

So I took a break and ate a banana. Go me. My jaw is bugging me. It keeps popping. Fuck you jaw. My dentist said physical therapy is next step. Yay.

Stupid mood and stupid jaw.

Today is supposed to be different

I'm here at work and it's loud and annoying and I don't even know what my mood is doing today. Everyone here (the labor nurses) is talking about the stupid Obama Care and I kinda want to stab them all. Shut up. Just . . . shut up. Seriously. 

I'm everywhere bad today. I'm down, I'm frustrated, I'm annoyed and cranky and I feel like I'm going to lose it. I'm trying, really trying to fake it till I make it. I'm really trying to stay positive and ignore my feelings and surroundings. Today, it's hard. Today is a day I would spiral, a day that I could spiral. I'm trying not to. 

Which is why I'm writing right now. There are a few things I'm frustrated with at the moment but I can't even concentrate. I want to hide. I want to go home and sleep. Last week was shitty - this week isn't supposed to be. I'm trying. I will make it a good day. God willing.

Why I Hate Myself: The Synopsis

I am hating on myself BIG TIME today. And nothing I'm trying to stop the self hate is working. So, here's the scoop *shifty eyes*:

1. I've had a bad week mood wise. I've had some very rough days involving lots of crying. I've had one day where I felt relatively okay most of the time, and one day of extreme irritability and hatred, followed by contempt and defeat after talking with my mom on the phone.

2. I'm beating myself up over said bad week of moods. Again, I should be past this, I should be okay, I shouldn't have to try so damn hard or struggle constantly against myself. I should be able to let go. But I can't or I don't or I won't and so I continue to struggle.

3. Weight. I've gained weight. I feel fat and disgusting and hate how my clothes fit and this makes me want to eat more and eat shitty food which perpetuates the weight gain. I need to get my ass back in the gym and working out consistently and I haven't. Making excuses. Some is actual time restraints, most is excuses.

4. My complexion. I am SO FUCKING SICK of my constant, unrelenting acne. And it's not like it's a couple pimples here and there - it's my entire face (and neck, and back) full of  large, small and often painful acne. And scarring. And discoloration. I have to wear a lot of makeup but I hate looking like I'm wearing a lot of makeup. And it cakes. And it looks obvious, and makes me self conscious.

5. My hair. I'm growing it out and it doesn't do what I want it to and it annoys me and I want to tear it out sometimes. Or chop it all off again (which I know I'll regret). I colored it, but my roots are showing and I hate spending the money to get it touched up. And I've had issues with store bought dye. And it's not long enough to pull into a pony tail without using 76 bobby pins to hold it in place.

6. Refer to numbers 1-5 as I keep ruminating over them even thought I'm desperately trying not to.

So I'm in a foul mood and I feel like crying but I'm not letting myself because I've spent too much time crying this week already. And I'm trying to "fake it till I make it" to bring my mood up.  And trying to think positive (doesn't seem like I am, reading the above - which is why I'm typing it out - purging it).

Yep. There ya go.

Stupid

This entry might be a bit messy, certainly not poetic. I have a flurry of confused, scared, angry, and desperately sad thoughts running through my head. I'm trying to make sense of them and I'm only partially succeeding.

I've been doing crappy. We know this. I've been sinking again, floundering for my happiness. And then something happened. Something that I thought was wonderful and amazing and gave me hope - real, concrete, tangible hope. And then that something was taken from me. And I've sunk again.

I worked with Chance on Friday and was told that he was being retired and possibly put up for adoption. The whole session my brain churned with "what-ifs". What if I could adopt Chance? I could see him and groom him and work with him every day. I could have my dream. These thoughts were a whirlwind. So much so that I filled out the adoption paperwork after my session. It was a long shot . . .

Yesterday I got an email from N saying that Chance's previous owners were okay with him going up for adoption. I cried. I sobbed. I couldn't stop. I thanked God and cried more. I should mention that I've been needing an emotional explosion for the last week. This email . . . it opened the floodgates. So much came out. Joy and hope with Chance, sorrow and hate and sadness with everything else. I talked to J - he said we'd discuss when he got home.

I looked up boarding facilities, researched hay and feed prices . . . you name it, I looked it up.  When he got home I bombarded him with all the information I had collected. And he said we couldn't afford it. A slap in the face. I was dumbfounded. My eyes brimmed with tears, lower lip threatening to quiver. I fought back the tears, briefly, and shut down. It didn't last long. I went to the bedroom to let it out. I cried hard again, but silently. I didn't want him to come in. But come in he did. And I shut myself down further.

Shortly after that, I went to bed. I slept with the Chance plush I had made myself.

I'm in shock over how much I'm mourning the loss of a horse I never even had. I feel like a failure. I feel like I've failed him. I feel like I've failed N because I can't adopt him. I feel like I've failed the few people I told about the possibility. I feel like I've failed myself. My husband. My son.

And that makes no sense. But in a way, it does. I pulled a very bipolar stunt - I was impulsive, jumped in feet first, and failed to see the big picture. I latched tightly, insidiously, to this glimmer of hope and plowed forward moving entirely on emotion. And, as what happens often when I do something like this, I'm devastated when it doesn't go my way.

Now, being hopeful and excited that a dream might come to fruition then having it fall through will create mourning and sadness in anyone. Don't think I don't know that. This isn't a feeling unique to me because I have bipolar - this is a feeling experienced by everyone at some point. It's normal. It's natural. The bipolar bit - the bit that is the most frustrating - is my overreaction to it. The amount I've been crying, my anger, my complete feeling of failure and hopelessness . . . that's not normal. See, I was already feeling and doing kinda crappy, and now I have this superimposed on it.

I'll get through it, I'll move past it. I'll try to separate what feelings are normal versus my overreaction. I'll try not to overanalyze. I'll try not to beat myself up. I'll try to be gentle. I'll try to remind myself there are other things worth being happy about.

I was going to say "other things worth living for". But I'm trying not to be fatalistic, even when I feel that way. I have reasons to be happy and positive and optimistic about . . . I just have to remember how to be that way . . .

Yay.

I have nothing profound to say, but I feel like I need to write. Sort my thoughts and get something out there. This may be a rambling mess - just a warning.

I'm not sure when the last time I wrote was and, quite frankly, I'm too lazy to look right now. Monday I think. It's been a long week. A rough week. I've had a very difficult time mood wise. I think it's safe to say the depression is back. Full force. So much so that M suggested hospitalization on Tuesday (more to nip it in the bud rather than letting it get worse). I didn't go, and I'm not going. I'm seeing Dr. C on Monday so we can figure something out.

But I feel like crap. I broke down crying 3 times at work on Wednesday. Thursday was a little better, but I avoided everyone at work as much as possible. My first half hour with Chance yesterday was crying - the rest of the day was a little better but I filled it with sewing and nothing else.

Today . . . I'm withdrawn. I'm flat. I want to hide in the office. I don't think I'll cry today . . . but I really don't want to exist. If I'm doing something (like teaching the discharge class), I can ignore for a bit how I feel. When I have to interact with people, I can put on a believable enough facade (though it falters - and it's obvious I'm more withdrawn). But when I'm not doing something where I'm actively engaged . . .

I'm so hollow and empty. There's nothing there. Nothing. I don't want to be anywhere. I don't really feel. Well, frustration, anger, sorrow, emptiness, lonliness . . . those emotions I can feel. I'm so done with this. I'm so tired of this. Why can't I get better? Why can't I be stable? I do everything right. I'm the picture perfect patient. . . it's not fair. And no, life isn't fair.

I'm tired of struggling through the day. Anything I can do to make it through. Because at night, I can sleep. When I sleep I don't have to deal with the pain and emptiness. If I can make it through the day, I can sleep. What a way to live. If I could just go to sleep and wake up when this was all over. . .

I don't know what to do anymore. I want to be strong and brave and fight the depression. But I don't see things getting better. I see me being like this for the rest of my life, which makes me think, why bother? Why spend so much energy when nothing is going to change? That fatalistic thinking isn't healthy nor helpful. But it's not something I can really control. It's there, and it's how I feel.

I'm so frustrated and tired and braindead. Recovery seems like a hopeless endevour. I want to give up. It's too hard. And if I didn't have my hubby and my son, I probably would.

Losing it. . . .

Sometimes I feel
Like I wanna leave this place for good
Under the ground
I'll live down there without a sound
And never hear
These hissing voices all the same
I'll disappear
Cause living makes me feel ashamed

I must believe
There's more above us and below
I must believe
Stranded with this bitch called hope
It keeps me here
When all I wanna do is go
It keeps me here
When all I wanna do is disappear

If this is it
When all we have and ever will
If this is it
Time is running out and standing still
I'll leave today
Cause there's nothing left to keep me here
I'll fade away
I'll turn my back and disappear

           - The Bravery
(italics added for emphasis)

I don't even know anymore. I don't know what I'm feeling or if I should trust what I'm feeling. I'm struggling right now. Grasping any little shred of hope I can. But I'm falling. I feel like I'm slipping.

I'm becoming more and more detached. I'm just . . . here. I'm only taking up space. I'm trying to feel. I am. And I don't. I hate this so much. I'm desperate. I've thought about taking pills . . .

Briefly. But the thought was there. I can't do this. I can't. I'm not strong enough.

What I'm feeling right now, besides the detachment, is the depression. It's coming back despite my best efforts. Despite being back on Cymbalta. Despite everything. And I can't . . .

I see M tomorrow. Chance on Friday. What do I do in the meantime.

Also? I took a break in writing this to cry. The big, ugly cry with snot everywhere. Had to hide it from my son. I think I'll cry more, too.

God help me.

Today is a bad day

Today is a bad day and I don't really know why. There's no reason it should be. I have ideas, maybe, but I don't know.

Let's start with how I feel, shall we? Today I actually feel depressed. Before, I've just been feeling down, weird, withdrawn, annoyed . . . but not depressed. Today though . . .it's a different story. All the other feelings, they're still there, but now we've thrown in that other one. That one I've been trying to escape from for so long.

So why the change? Why is today so bad? I have only a few ideas, none of them very good. First: I saw M yesterday, and I brought him a copy of my previous post to read. We talked a lot about it and about how maybe I'm trying too hard to be perfect at getting better and still being a wife and mother and RN, etc. Which may be true. I have been trying hard to keep myself from getting worse through the mixed episode and this downward trend. And I haven't truly relaxed much. Not as much as I'd like to. All my days off are spent running around with appointments or errands, or playing with my son (not that that's bad, but it's nice to just sit and read). And then M said that he thinks I'm closer to full depression than I think. I disagreed with him. I'm managing, most days are okay (not great, and I have bad ones, but they're okay), I'm functional. But he said he's a little worried. And my thought with this is, if I had this notion in my head that M thinks I'm getting bad again, maybe it's becoming a self fulfilling prophecy. I don't really believe this, but it's something to think about.

Second: When J got home from work yesterday, we talked a little about my therapy session. He's very apathetic about everything pertaining to my mental health. At least that's how it seemed. Like he's given up and me being depressed is just the "new normal" (his words). This is how it is so why bother trying anything to fix it? He mentioned again how he thinks I latch onto something so that I become more depressed - that I'm doing this on purpose. And I'll be honest - that hurts. And then I start thinking, what happened? What event? What thing? What thought? What whatever that could possibly have started this? And I can't come up with anything. Nothing. But I'm wracking my brain for any explanation. Maybe J has an idea. And maybe he could share it with me. But I just don't know. And maybe this hurt and trying to figure this out is contributing to my mood today - I think this is probably true.

The good news, I guess, is that I got to come home early from work today. Which is a very good thing. I was not in the state of mind to be delivering babies. I'm distracted, irritable, withdrawn, annoyed, depressed, snippy, having trouble concentrating, and feel on the verge of tears.

But I'm home now, and I'm probably going to nap. It's much easier to sleep and ignore how I'm feeling. I don't feel like coping right now. I feel like hiding.

I wish I could cry. . . .

I wish I could cry. I need to. I want to. But I can't. I'm so devoid of any feeling I can't even cry. How sad is that? One of the hallmarks of depression . . .and I can't muster up even one tear. I want to cry, and at the same time, I don't even care.

I don't care what happens. I just don't. I don't feel and I don't care. What a sad, sorry place to be. I want to go to sleep and not wake up. All I want to do is sleep. When I sleep, I don't have to deal with how I feel and how I'm thinking. I don't have to deal with the emptiness and lack of feeling. I don't have to deal with anything.

My ability to cope is growing weaker every day I feel this way. I don't know what else to do to cope. Everything I've done doesn't seem to work. I'm going to start going to church. Hopefully that will help. I'm starting equine therapy. Hopefully that will help. But that, coupled with everything else I'm doing . . .if it's not enough, if my feelings don't improve . . .I don't know what I'll do.

No one can live like this for long. I can barely put on my mask anymore. I think I'm only convincing around my son - and that's shaky at best.

My meds better kick in. Something has to change. Something has to work. I only have so much fight left in me.

Why?

It's been a rough couple of days.  My mood has been pretty down in the dumps. Top that off with a sick, cranky kid who makes himself barf . . . .well, it put me over the top. I broke down last night and tonight. I was really trying to keep it together and hide everything, but it's just been too much. I'm stretched too thin and I feel overwhelmed. I'm trying not to catastrophize, and remember that tomorrow is a new day, but at the moment it's hard. All I want is to be alone. Completely alone. But that's not going to happen. Not tomorrow, not anytime this week. And quite frankly, it pisses me off.

On a side note, I named my brain Clancy. That way when I hear things that aren't there I can go "god dammit Clancy! WTF?". It makes me sound less crazy. Or more crazy. I'm not sure which.

I did something I shouldn't have. . .

And what is that something? Well, let me start by saying that yesterday sucked balls. Big, hairy, sweaty balls. I woke up in a bad mood - irritable and a little down. It got progressively worse. I tried to stop it. I couldn't. I went to the gym. I went shopping with a friend. And my mood worsened. It spiraled down. Lower and lower, out of my control. My thoughts became darker, increasingly more concerning. Suicidal thoughts started. Slow and insidious, they permeated my mind. I should have gone downstairs to box. I should have called for help. I did neither. I reached for a blade instead. And I cut. Not too deep. Not too many. Just enough. Enough to feel the pain, to feel something. Enough to feel something other than the bleak and all consuming darkness that was sweeping over me, threatening to crush me under its oppressive weight.

And so I cut. Six parallel slits. All the same length. All in a neat little row. On my thigh. Easy to hide. Not like my arm - I can't hide that at work. And they bled. And I cleaned them and covered them with a gauze pad that I taped down. And the emptiness was still there. And I didn't feel better. I stared off into space and wondered why these feelings kept coming back. I felt good on Wednesday. I felt normal and okay and happy and better. And yesterday . . .yesterday I did not. And so I cut. Because I didn't know what else to do.

Except I did. But I chose not to do it. I went against my better judgement. And I felt bad. And I felt guilty. And at the same time I wanted to cut more. To cut more and cause more pain and try to break through the darkness enveloping me. But instead I threw away the blade and cleaned myself and cried. Silently, I cried. And wondered what my problem was. And wondered why these thoughts still came. Why they came when I was feeling better.

And I thought. And I stared off and I listened to music and I told myself this was only a setback and that I would feel better tomorrow. I would feel better tomorrow. Now was bad. Tomorrow would be better. And the emptiness wouldn't be as deep and the despair would fade and I would be okay. I would be okay.

And I wondered if I did this on purpose. If I felt like this on purpose. If I made myself feel so bad on purpose. I've been told I do. That I'm scared of feeling better. That I find a reason to feel bad. That I do this on purpose. And I believe it. And I feel bad for it. And it all feels useless. And I wonder, why would I do this? I don't want to feel like this. And I try to think of why I would do this. And I try to find a trigger and I can't. And I try talking about it and writing about it and thinking about it and I can't see. I can't see in front of my face and it's useless.

And I don't want attention for this. I don't think I do. I don't like this. I don't want this darkness, this darkness that follows me like a cloud, even when I feel good. Even when I feel well. Even when I feel happy. If I stop for a minute, it's there, always willing to take over. Maybe it's my upbringing. Maybe I'm sick and twisted and am doing this to myself and I don't even notice. Maybe I want attention. Maybe I'm sabotaging myself.

And maybe I'm not. And maybe I don't know what's going on. And maybe all of this is right and I just can't see what's right and what's happening and what to do about it.

And so I cut. Six parallel slits. All the same length. All in a neat little row. And I cleaned them. And I cried. Because I didn't know what else to do. And I thought about everything and told myself that I was okay and that this was only a setback and that tomorrow would be better.

And it was. Today was okay. It was a good day. I felt good and I felt happy and I looked at my six parallel slits on my thigh and I wondered why I didn't cut more. Then I pushed those thoughts aside because I felt good and I wanted to feel good and I was going to feel good. And I did.

And this is only a setback. This is what I tell myself. I'm getting better, I am better. I tell myself I'll have setbacks, that every day is a new day. That I don't want to feel bad and I won't sabotage myself and I'll stay positive and I'll prove people wrong and yesterday was only a setback.

And I believe it. And I look at my six parallel slits. But still I cry.

A bit of a rant . . .

I don't know exactly what this post will be about. Maybe everything, maybe nothing. I have a sneaking suspicion it will be stream of consciousness about everything bugging me and going through my head and controlling me right now. And that's a lot.

 

I think I'll start with my artwork, my paintings. My painting has been at a fever pitch - neurotic and fast paced, an ever-pressing NEED to get as many done as soon as possible, yesterday if I can and I have to keep up the pace because if I don't, what then? What will I do then? And I need (and have) more and more ideas that need to come out, and they need out NOW, they need to be on paper. And I've been going on and on like this for, I don't know, 3-4 weeks? J has pointed it out to me and I'm trying to be more aware. But I feel anxious if I can't paint. Because it's this NEED.

 

And then, there's this opportunity to maybe have my work seenby other people, to be used in a presentation by my psychiatrist and therapist, maybe be in a magazine. And that's exciting and amazing and wonderful and I've had good feedback about how powerful my work is and how it may help other people going through what I've been dealing with. How awesome is that? So or course I need to paint more. More and more pictures and they need to be done now. And I need digital prints made for the presentation and magazine (if that happens) and I need those done NOW. And I'm frantic about it, and anxious and I feel like time is slipping away to get it done. If we don't do it NOW, it won't get done. Ever.

 

Now, couple that with this almost crippling fear about having all of that done with my work. You know why? I don't think it's good enough. I don't think people will like or relate to it, despite what they've said. They're just being nice. I want so badly for my work to be out there and be seen, to help others, but I'm convinced that none of it will happen, it's pointless to even try, so why bother?

 

And so I'm stuck. I want my work out there and I paint (and enjoy it, let's not forget that) frantically, eratically, so focused on the task that I have blinders on to everything else. But I'm so convinced that none of it matters anyway, that I feel guilty and sheepish and stupid and defeated. All of this swirls in my head almost constantly. I worry that if I sit down to paint J will say or think something negative or critisize me or get upset or angry because I'm doing that and not something else. I've almost become frozen.

 

Now, the next "big" issue is my work. My work which everyone thinks is so wonderful and amazing and oh my God you must LOVE your job! No, actually, I don't. It's boring and not particularly challenging. What do I do? I deliver babies. Not quite all the time - I work on post-partum too (moms who have delivered). Post-partum is BORING. So boring. Unless there's a post-partum hemmorhage, or code or eclamptic seizure. Then: fun. The other section I work in is the nursery. I attend every delivery and my job is the baby. Only the baby. This part is a little more fun and challenging because you never know what you're going to get - a healthy pink crying baby, or a limp blue one with no respiratory effort (my favorite ones, actually - and no, I'm not joking. I love a good ressusitation).

 

Anyway, I've been toying with the idea of finding something else - in nursing of course - just in a different area. And I've been toying with this idea for 2 YEARS. TWO. BLOODY. YEARS. At first, I wasn't quite sure which area I might want to go to. Oncology? GI? And then, I got scared. Of change maybe. I don't know. Change IS scary. And I like most of the people I work with. In fact, I work with my 2 best friends. And it would be difficult to leave them. And it's all so familiar and safe. Familiar, safe, working with friends. What's not to love? I should like it, right? I've been doing it for 4 1/2 years . . .But no. I'm growing more and more dissatisfied with my job every day. Now, that's not to say I don't have good days. Days where I do, indeed, have fun. Days when I enjoy being at work. Days where I get to do something to really make a difference, at least for one family. And I like those days. And I wish I had more of them.

But the sad thing is, I'm still not happy there most days. I'll have fun with my friends and other coworkers, but my job is mostly routine, no real changes, no real challenge. I've become a bit bitter. I can get snippy, too judgmental, less empathetic and I hate that about myself. That's not who I am. That's not who I want to be. Well, try to stay positive! You know what? I do. I try damn hard to stay positive, to curb judgmental thoughts when they arise and to try and have fun and keep my anger in check. And it's hard. But that's just the name of the game.

So what do I want to do? I've always said oncology, but something else seems to have a stronger pull on me: psych nursing. Yep. Working with crazies like me. I mean, why not? I know how shitty and out of control you can feel. I can relate to them on many levels. And wouldn't it be nice to help someone like me? I think quite a few people would think me stupid or daft or all sorts of things if I told them I wanted to do psych nursing (in-patient psych, hopefully). I think some people would think it's a phase and it will pass. And who the fuck knows, maybe it is just a phase and it will pass. However, again, I've been wanting to do something different for 2 years and only haven't because of fear. And this is an area I'm very interested in. Hell, I even ordered books on therapeutic communication and will be ordering a general psych book as well.

But still, I'm scared. I'm worried about leaving my friends, the familiarity, and the level of expertise that comes with working in the same area for almost 5 years. Change is scary. I'm back and forth too on when is a good time to really start looking. Why? I'm worried about mood instability. I'm admittedly not handling stress very well at the moment. And to start a new job, with new people, in a new place, with new expectations, and stay stable and level headed is a tall order right now. The minor stresses over the last 3 days have me on a roller coaster of emotions again. Should I just jump in and go for it? Do I wait until I'm more stable? I have no idea.

Of course, in the meantime, I figured "Hey! Since we want to leave so bad, but are just scared to do so, lets go ahead and sign up for our RNC exam and apply for the charge nurse position on the floor!" Yeah. Way to go self. (the RNC exam, by the way, is a national level test you take showing that you're an expert in your field of nursing - you get more fancy letters behind your name and and extra $1.50 and hour). So now I've got these 2 things - the RNC, which I already paid my $300 to take, and taking on a charge nurse position. The charge position will at least look good on my resume . . .

Fuck. There's more. But I'm too tired to focus and type. I'll write tomorrow I suppose This turned into quite the long rant. Oops.

I could scream

This blog post I'm actually writing at work. In an email. To myself. Mainly because our work computers are assholes and have to run the oldest version of internet explorer known to man which OF COURSE doesn't support blogger. So I'm writing it in an email to copy and paste to my blog. Awesome.

 

Well, now down to business. I've been a bit . . .off lately. I don't know. I'm not even sure how to explain it. J had noted that I was being neurotic and frantic about things - several things - and now that he's pointed it out, I'm becoming more aware of it. More aware of my rapid, spiraling thinking. More aware of a mild anxiety that never seems to leave. More aware of this need to get ALL the things done and do them NOW. And let's be honest - it's annoying. Couple this with my stupid cough and congestion that won't leave and my lack of sleep because of it and you've got a not-good situation.

 

And so what should we do? I know! Let's add in money woes as well! Yay!! $1100 for the timing belt in my truck with another $1000 of work still needing to be done. Then yesterday morning (at 1am no less) our washing machine became possessed and died. That's a minimum of $250 for repair (if it's something simple) or upwards of $700-800 for a new one. We just renewed my license plates ($275) and of course, Christmas is coming. Wonderful.

 

J let me know about the truck costs today and it just . . . I don't know. I was pissed and upset and depressed and worried . . .and everything in between. My thinking and mood began its downward spiral. Everything is pointless anyway. We should just put the house up for sale, buy a smaller one in the process, and foreclose on the first one - we won't be able to sell it anyway, not in this market. Our credit might be shitty for awhile but we'll have a smaller house payment. I can try to pick up as many extra shifts as I can, too. Who cares if it stresses me out  - I'm on pills, aren't I? And in the middle of all this FUCK everything else. Nothing else matters anyway.

 

This thinking . . .is bad. And I have a hard time stopping it. And what's worse? This wasn't everything going through my head. The other thing, the thing that made me feel like complete shit, is about my paintings. J said that I could go ahead and have my paintings proffesionally scanned. That way I could give copies to Dr. C and M to use in a presentation. That way I could work on selling prints and making a book with them. That way, with the help of Dr. C, I could maybe get them published in a bipolar magazine. I was excited about that. Soooo very excited.

 

The problem? It's going to cost $240 to have them scanned. $240 that, in light of everything else going on, I shouldn't spend. But the thing is, I want to. I don't think anyone understands how important this is for me. J might, I think he does, but think of how much money we're spending this month already. And I feel guilty and selfish and like a complete ass hat if I even bring it up. I don't want to bring it up for the fear of being seen as selfish. And that's how I feel. Like a selfish brat whinning if she doesn't get what she wants. And I HATE that. So much. And I sit here torn as to what to do. Do I ask J and risk him getting frustrated with me? Do I wait and lose the opportunity of having Dr. C and M being able to use them?

 

And so here I sit, feeling like a selfish tit and realizing that this whole post makes me look like a selfish tit. And so I do what I do best - I berate myself, and I fume over my shortcomings and my selfishness and my inability to NOT over react and my eventual moodswings that will arise from all of this because I can't control anything.

 

And then I cried. In the report room. And I felt like shit after. And I went about my day feigning happiness. And I don't want to tell anyone about this but I write it here because I really do. My apparent frantic neuroticism spills over into everything, it seems. I wish J hadn't pointed it out but I'm glad he did. If I'm aware of it, I guess I can learn to control it. Before I was aware I was in ignorant bliss. I don't know which is better, really.

 

So yes. I'm a selfish tit. I hate how my mind works right now - I have no idea what's going on or why it's happening. More importantly, I'm a tit. Let's not forget that.

Edit: Before posting this when I got home, I read it. And it's pretty self deprecating. And not how I should be thinking. I thought about not posting it. I thought about  rewriting it. Instead, I posted it as it was. Why? Because it's exactly how I feel. Good or bad, I'll post how I feel and what's going on. No sense in lying.

I'm up WAY too early

It's 0430, Thursday morning. I don't actually need to be up until 0540. But I can't sleep. The night before last, I got a whopping 3 hours (probably less) thanks to my congestion and inability to breathe. My congestion was better last night (though I still had to get up numerous times to blow my nose and baste myself in Vicks Vaporub). But I've been awake since 0300. Part of the problem? My bed is being taken up entirely by my hubby, son and dog. But the main reason is that my mind is racing. Going over scenario after scenario of just about everything. It's frustrating and I can't turn my brain off.

I'm especially fixated on my artwork. With Dr. C and M wanting it for a presentation, the dim hope on the horizon of having some pieces published in bp Magazine, of making my own prints and books to sell online . . .it's overwhelming. I want my art to be published. I want my art to be seen. I want my art to help others understand the illness, the struggle, and to show people they are not alone in how they feel. That would be the best gift ever - if somehow my work could help another person.

The first step to all of this, is having my work scanned - professionally. In doing this, I ensure a high quality, high resolution digital image to make prints, etc. with. The problem? It costs money. J found an art gallery that does the scanning for $15/sq. foot. For my size paintings, that's around $15 each. Which for my 22 paintings thus far is $330. And honestly? That's an amazing deal! (We found a couple places charging $60-75 per painting).  If I have my way, and hopefully (most likely) I will, I want to just have all of them scanned. Now. No waiting. Put it on the credit card and let's go. We did leave one piece with them to do a trial scan and print to check for quality, but from the look of other scans they had just finished, it's sure to be good.

And I know I'm impatient, and I know J is going to point out that we're spending $800 next week on getting my timing belt done, and Christmas is almost here, and all the other countless things that cost money. I know that. I get that. But I am impatient. And? This actually is very important to me. I feel like I need to get this done. Not want - need. I feel pressured, frantic, like it's now or never. And I'm not quite sure why I feel so sure and so strongly about this getting done. But it needs to get done. And I think I'll continue to feel anxious until it does.

I have other things to write about, but I'll save it for my next post. And I figured I ought to post a painting with each blog entry I write.

"Catch and Release"
14X5.5

Do you see, how the wind in your hair now feels differently?
Catch and release, the lure above.
     - Silversun Pickups

This painting is about being caught - either in or out of depression - only to be released. For me, I'm typically in the depression, caught, and being pulled up, only to be released back down to the depths. What's the lure above? Anything you want it to be - family, friends, God, willpower . . .That part is up to you.

OMG it's Monday!

Well, it is. Yesterday? Mainly a win. And J managed to wow me with some insight. Insightful insight. Yeah. That kind.

All kidding aside, he pointed out some behaviors I wasn't aware of. For example, my neurotic thinking/behavior when it comes to working out and eating. Normally, one works out to feel good. And that's what I did. Operative word being did. It's become so that I don't work out to feel good - I work out so I don't feel bad. I beat myself up if I miss a day at the gym. My mind cycles: I missed a day, now I'm going to gain weight, I'm going to gain back the 25 pounds I lost and I'm going to gain more and I'm going to be fat and I better work out harder and  I better restrict my diet more and oh crap I had a cookie and now I've done it I'm such a failure why do I even try . . . That's what I do. With a lot of things. Apparently. Having J point it out made me realize that. Forced me to identify it. I do that with my workouts, my diet, my artwork. All or nothing. If it's not all, I screwed up and I berate myself for it. And hey, what might that do to my already unstable mood?

I have a very strange way of thinking as well. For as long as I can remember, I've had to have something to look forward to to keep me going. As a kid maybe it was a new book, or going to my dad's house, or a new pet (I had lots of rats, snakes, spiders and lizards). As I got older, it was who I was working with on a specific day, something I was saving up for, buying a gift for a friend . . .any countless number of things. I've always needed that. Something to keep me going.

Now . . .I find myself struggling with this. Trying to find something to look forward to. The past year . . .it's been harder. Last January, I looked forward to being alive. Then I looked forward to appointments with M, or a stretch of 3 days off in a row. Small things to keep me going week to week. In June and July, I looked forward to our vacation in California. When we got home I looked forward to fall, to Halloween. But still I needed the little things too - seeing M weekly, having dinner with friends every week. Something, anything to latch onto. And I'm struggling so . . .freaking . . .hard with this. What am I looking forward to? This week? Seeing Dr. C, seeing M, a tattoo touch up on Friday. Next week? I don't know. I need something. And therein lies the rub: I can't do this forever. No one can live like this and be happy. Only empty. To live like this is to be empty and dark and hollow inside. Which is exactly how I've been feeling. Most of my life.

And the revelation from J: I haven't always been like this. No. While we were dating, I wasn't like this. After we were married, I wasn't like this. Up until 6-12 weeks after A was born, I wasn't like this. There was a period in my life, however brief it was, that I was truly happy. Not hindered by my mental illness (unless you count my manic episode and subsequent depression that almost ended my marriage, but that's a story for another day). The point is, I can function without having that thing to latch onto. I've done it before, why can't I do it now? J had a good analogy: there's a hiking trail here called the Incline. It's a mile up, and a 41% to 68% grade. It's a steep bastard. Anyway, when J was hiking it, there was a guy with a stick. He'd throw the stick up the hill, and hike up to it. Just gotta make it to the stick, just gotta make it to the stick. He'd get to the stick, pick it up and throw it up higher. Gotta make it to the stick. Oblivious to everything else.

That guy with the stick? I'm him. I'm so focused on these small goals or achievements or things to latch onto that I'm missing everything else - I'm chasing that goddamned stick while being oblivious to my own family/life/self/happiness. What the actual fuck, self? And now, now comes the difficult task of fixing this. How? How do I fix this? I've only not done this for 7 years of my life! Perhaps this insight is the first step. Probably it's the first step, let's be honest. But that doesn't make it any less daunting. And add in the fact that I have absolutely no idea what to do, and you have a recipe for . . .not success. Guess I know what I'll be working on for the foreseeable future.

On another note, my artwork. Ahhhh, yes. My one painting that turned into a series of 22 (with 5 more ideas in the composition stage). I brought my paintings to my appointment today with Dr. C per his request. He couldn't quite get past the first 5 or 6. I guess, I had kind of thought my artwork was powerful, but I don't ever get to see people's expressions first hand - only written responses on Deviant Art, or facebook. I know some of my work is disturbing, but it's nice to have someone actually look at it. And I mean look. Not just see it and become worried about my mental state or wonder what's wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with me. But to have someone look, to see, and to ask intelligent questions or allow me to explain the meaning behind the pieces . . .it means a lot. So far, the only people who have have been J, M, and Dr. C (aside for some friends and random people on Deviant Art). I think most people, when they see it, they only see the obvious without looking for the meaning. My work is powerful. Especially if you know me. Especially if you know someone with bipolar or depression. Especially if you are someone with bipolar or depression.

So I appreciate any and all feedback. I'll be scanning all of my works onto a thumbdrive to give to Dr. C. I'm looking into having my art professionally scanned to make prints and art books. I'm looking into possibly getting my work into a bipolar magazine. Possibly into an art show. Hell, I don't know. I want my work out there - this more than anything I've created before. Maybe it can help someone going through what I've been through. It's nice to know you're not the only one.

"Just Another Day"
11X7, watercolor
I'm dreaming again / Of life underground
It doesn't ever move / It doesn't make a sound
And just when I think--That things are in their place
The heavens are secure--The whole thing explodes in my face
It's just another . . . . . . . It's just another day
It's just another . . . . . . . It's just another day . . .
(but) There's a smile on my face . . . For everyone
There's a golden coin . . . That reflects the sun
There's a lonely place . . . That's always cold
There's a place in the stars . . . For when you get old 
     - Oingo Boingo

The important line, well, one of them, is "there's a smile on my face, for everyone". Because despite what I feel or what I hear, I have to have a smile on my face. Otherwise, people might know something's wrong. They might know I'm different.

I'm getting down with the sickness

I say that because I'm sick. Mentally, yes, but I have a wicked cold (that was a joke by the way, we all know I'm mentally deranged :P ). Delightful headache, nausea, chest congestion, runny nose, sore throat . . .all the fun stuff. Oh, and the trots. I've got that too.

Awesome.

Surprisingly though, it hasn't done too much to my mood. Which is pretty nice. I'm annoyed with being sick, I'm cranky because I'm sick . . .but I'm not necessarily down. So even though I feel like crap, I'd still chalk today up as a win.

Yesterday was a bit of a roller coaster mood wise. I worked yesterday. It started fine, I was in a pretty good mood. Just tired. Going through the motions. By early afternoon my mood plummeted. I was feeling depressed and angry for no reason. I couldn't figure out what triggered it. When I got home I felt withdrawn and tired. It was just . . .frustrating. If I had a reason for feeling the way I did, that would be one thing. But I had no reason, other than being me. And that's obnoxious. And stupid.

Anyway, in this post I thought I'd share what is arguably my most disturbing painting. Most people who have seen it truly don't like it. And tend to worry about my safety and sanity. Again, click for a larger view.

"A Clean Execution"
11X7, watercolor.
Now, most people see this as simply my suicide. What I'm planning, what I'm thinking or seeing or wanting. And surprisingly, that's not it. It is about suicide, yes, but only a little. The figure is more the embodiment of my depression. And it's blowing its brains out. And what emerges from the chaos is hope: in the form of 2 sparrows representing my hubby and son.

Not as disturbing now, is it? But some artwork is about shock value and is done in order to make you think. Maybe this contains both - I don't know. As disturbing as it is, this is one of my favorite pieces I've done.

More tomorrow, hopefully. I'm tired and my cold medicine is wearing off.