Today I should have gone to the hospital

I worked today. I was on the floor, backup for trans. I had easy patients. Nice patients. It should have been a nice day. An easy day.

It wasn't.

I knew this morning when I woke up that today would be difficult. I knew I would struggle. I just didn't know how much . . .

I avoided people. Coworkers, my patients even. Go into a room, do what I needed, and get out. I was irritable. I was angry. I didn't want to be bothered. People asked questions. Questions I'm sick of answering. Have you sold your house? When are you moving? Where are you moving to?

I don't. Fucking. Know.

And I'm tired of everyone asking.

Wait.

It's a simple thing. It's not a big deal. People are curious, interested, caring. Making conversation.

But it filled me with rage. I couldn't handle the questions so I withdrew a little more. I gave short answers.

In the afternoon I hid.

I stole away to the report room, sat in a chair in the corner behind the door so people wouldn't see me. That only lasted for half an hour before I got a call from a patient. I left my chair, my temporary sanctuary, to bring my patient pain meds.

I had brought my Nook with me so I decided to try reading. Reading should help, right?

Normally it does. Not today though. Not today. Today I couldn't really focus. After a few pages I would have to take a break. Walk, stretch, check my email. I couldn't focus. I couldn't focus why can't I focus what the hell . . .

My mood was worsening. I grade myself on a scale of 1-10. Five is "normal". Below is moving into depression, above into mania. I started the day at a 3.5. Yes. By 4:00, I was a 2, threatening to go lower. Ever lower.

It can't go lower.

It was. I hid. I hid in the report room again. It was dark in there, the sun was already going down and I left the lights off. I wanted the dark, the quiet. I wanted no one.

Leave me alone.

The charge nurse came in. She didn't know I was sitting there, alone, in the dark. I said boo. She jumped and immediately asked if I was okay.

No. I'm not okay. I'm far from okay.

She offered to take my patients and send me home.

I'll be alright. I'm not okay, but I'll be alright. I can last the rest of the shift. It's only 2 hours. I can do it.

She took my face in her hands and told me to let her know if I needed anything.

Wait. I need help.

Wait.

She left and I sat in the dark, alone. I started to shake, to tremble, lip quivering, tears welling up. I wept. Silently. I tried to stop. I can't have someone catching me crying. Sitting alone in the dark is one thing . . . but crying . . . no.

I stopped crying and I sat, drying my tears, blowing my nose as quietly as I could.

I felt worse. So much worse.

I need to lie down.

I laid down on the floor, in the shadows, behind the door. No one could see me if they were just walking by. Perfect.

Wait.

I was worse. I felt worse. I'm lying on the floor alone in the dark at work and no one knows I'm here and they don't know how bad I feel how bad I've gotten again and that I'm lying here and what I really want to do is die but I can't do that not here not at work and maybe not anywhere but I still kinda want to die and why isn't anyone looking for me?

My mind was racing, I was praying. Please, someone, anyone, find me. Find me and HELP ME. I need HELP don't you understand I NEED HELP!! Someone. Please . . .

Stop.

If someone finds me, if they ask me, I need help. I need to go to the hospital. I want to swallow all of my pills and slit my wrists and  want to go to sleep and not wake up and I know that that's not what I really want. What I really want is for the pain to stop. The pain to fucking END ALREADY.

I'm lying on the floor at work in the dark, hidden from everyone, praying, praying, PRAYING and no one comes. No one comes into the report room. I'm on my side, curled in a ball, full of despair and hopelessness and I start to cry again because no one is coming and no one is helping me and please just someone come and help me because I'm afraid I might hurt myself and it might be real bad this time and I'm scared. No, I'm terrified. My mind races with scenarios of my death and how I might be saved if someone would just FUCKING COME INTO THE ROOM.

But no one does.

I'm miserable. I text my husband. I tell him it's bad, I'm having a rough day, I'm hiding. I don't let on how bad it is because I don't want him to worry. I make him worry so much and I don't want him to worry because I'm okay, really, I'll be okay, I'm fine actually. Just fine.

Stop.

You're not fooling anyone. At least, not yourself. You need to get up. You've been on the floor for 2 hours.

Get up.

I can't. I need to stay longer. Someone may find me and I can get help. I need help. Remember?

Get up.

I sit up. I feel defeated. I feel empty and hopeless and scared and depressed and I don't want to move but I have to move I have to check on my patients and no one is coming to check on me so I have to get up.

Get up.

I stand. I look into the hallway to make sure no one is around while I make my way to the bathroom to clean myself up. I need to be presentable. People can't know that I was crying. That I was silently breaking down and losing my shit while they were doing their work and being happy and normal and not looking for me or helping me because apparently I still do a good job of hiding my suicidal thoughts and depression and no one seems to be the wiser.

Wait.

I check on my patients. They're fine. I was on the floor for 2 hours and they didn't call me and they didn't need anything and they're fine. I sit in the nurses station staring at my phone, scrolling through facebook, trying not to think about how much I hate life and how much I really want to die and then countering my thinking because I know I really don't want to die, remember? You want the pain to stop. You want to not feel like this anymore.

Please.

My shift ends. I give report. I drive home. I tell my husband if I have another day like today I need to be admitted. I need to go to the hospital.

I don't want to go to the hospital. Not again. Please not again.

Help.

 I feel empty and drained and horrifically sad and hopeless and it's maybe more than I can handle. Is it more than I can handle? I wish I knew. And how will tomorrow be? The same? Worse? Better?

Stop.

I wrote this. Before going to bed because if I didn't write this it would consume me and I wouldn't be able to sleep and my mind would probably race even more and I can't have that, not now. Now I need to sleep. It's the only real escape I have.

OMG WTF and THANK YOU

This is a two part post because I feel like doing that. Deal with it.

Let me start by saying this: this past week (since last Friday) has been HELL. It has been complete and total emotional CHAOS. You may remember that I went of my Geodon last Thursday and that Friday started my living nightmare.

I worked last Saturday and Sunday. Saturday I spent most of my shift in our report room, in the corner, curled in a ball. Pretty great, yeah? I worked Sunday as well. And Sunday I was sent home early because I couldn't stop crying and was having suicidal ideation. Awesome, right? Monday and Tuesday were spent sobbing uncontrollably, wishing I would die or at least not exist anymore. And Wednesday . . . Wednesday was complete apathy. It was a chore to go to the bathroom. I spent most of the day laying on the couch staring at the ceiling. I felt nothing. I cared about nothing. Until that night when, again, I couldn't stop crying.

My mother-in-law watched my son Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday because I was such a mess. I couldn't cope taking care of myself, let alone taking care of my son.

And yesterday, Thursday, was a real shit show too. I worked and people could tell something was wrong. I was either given a wide berth or was asked repeatedly if I was okay. I broke down crying in the PACU talking to my friend and coworker. I had emailed my therapist the night before, telling him what was going on and he had emailed me back saying that he needed to see me, ASAP. He wanted me to come in at three. So I had to leave work. Which I felt absolutely horrible about. I mean, I had to leave on Sunday and now today too?? But I left, fully intending to come back after my session.

So I went to therapy, flat and withdrawn and miserable. M had me tell him about my week. He helped me vent. He had to help me because I was so depressed I was hardly saying anything. I got angry. I teared up but didn't cry (I wouldn't let myself). And then M sat on the floor and asked me what the fuck I was going to do. That's seriously what he said. I couldn't help but laugh. With that, he broke through. He told a corny joke. I told a better one. I made fun of how I'm living day by day and how every day I'm like "well today was horrible, maybe tomorrow will be better. Oh FUCK! Today is fucking horrible too!" But I was laughing as I was saying it. We talked about our dogs and I told him about how I talk for my dog and that she cusses a lot. I gave examples. He was laughing, I was laughing. It was exactly what I needed. He also told me I was not allowed to go back to work, but that I had to go home and relax.

And that's what I did. My hubby was at his mom's house having dinner (I got home at 1630) so I went to McDonald's and got cheeseburgers and ate them watching Ghost Hunters. My mood had gone from a 1-2 to a solid 3.5.

I missed 3 doses of Geodon and my life fell apart. Needless to say, I'm back on the Geodon but it's taking awhile for it to kick in. I've never done well with med changes and this was one of the worst (only the Latuda beat it - which sent me to the hospital in December). Slowly though, I'll get better.

And now, the thank you's.

First, my hubby. He's always there for me, encouraging me, trying to make me smile and laugh, comforting me, listening to me and even yelling at me when I need it. He's a trooper and I don't know how the hell he handles being with me. I wouldn't be here if not for him and my son. I love you more than you know. Thank you.

My friends, especially L. My true friends have helped me so much. Again, especially L who keeps my ass in line and is never afraid to speak her mind and put me in my place (which I totally need). They listen to me and support me. Thank you.

My coworkers, especially over the last week. I have been a handful. I have been a mess. I have been needy and had to go home early 2 days - 2 days that were terribly busy. But they covered for me. My NICU manager who set me straight and sent me home on Sunday. My assistant manager who let me leave yesterday and made me feel a little bit better for having to leave. To my friend B who was charge both those days and had to pick up my slack. And for everyone else for being understanding. Thank you.

My therapist. Therapy is always beneficial, but yesterday it was especially so. Thank you.

I also need to say thank you to my mother-in-law for keeping my son and giving me a reprieve. Thank you.

That's it. That's all I got right now. Boom.

Torn . . .

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I wish this were easier.

Let's talk about things

This post will be . . . difficult I think. And personal. Because I don't see my therapist again until next week and I need to get shit out. Air out some bones.

Friday through Monday (starting last week) were horrible days for me. I was irritable. I was depressed. I felt awful. I had feelings of despair and hopelessness. I broke down crying on Sunday. It felt like the old me. The depressed me.

The familiar me.

I did what I could to brush off the feelings. I minimized them. I ignored them. I tried to stay in the moment. I took it day by day, hoping the next day would be better. I didn't catastrophize, I didn't ruminate, I stopped negative thoughts and replaced them with positive ones.

And it worked somewhat.

On Sunday after crying I was able to joke a little - I could move past the despair. On Monday it was difficult. I was at work and I was down and withdrawn and irritable. I hid a lot. I avoided people (which didn't go unnoticed). But I got through the day despite how tired and drained I was.

Yesterday I was at the riding center most of the day. I mucked stalls in the morning which lifted my spirits. Now, I was withdrawn there - I usually talk with the other people there but yesterday I pretty much kept to myself. Interacting proved difficult. I was horribly drained from the previous four days, but I went back in the afternoon for the classes - which was probably a mistake - it took everything out of me.

But I pressed on and last night I was more light hearted and able to joke a bit.

So I'm taking things day by day. I have to - I have no choice. Day by day I have to be acutely aware of my feelings. Day by day I have to check in with myself to make sure I'm not swinging outside the realm of normalcy. And day by day this is exhausting.

It has to be done though. Because here's my problem:

I think I may be starting another mood episode. Possibly caused by the stress of being back at work. And that's not the only problem.

I like to self sabotage. We all know this, right? We all know that I have issues with being "normal", with being "okay". We all know that I'm used to being depressed. I don't know how to not be depressed.

And this is a HUGE problem. See, part of me is excited at the prospect of another mood episode, of going into a state of depression again. Part of me welcomes tis whole heartedly. It's like visiting a friend you haven't seen in a long time - where you pick up as if no time has past. It's like being home. It's familiar and comfortable and part of me longs to be there again.

I hate admitting this. I hate this part of me.

And I'm stamping it out. Or trying to. Which is harder than you think. I'm already dealing with looming depression (it truly is there) and to add to this . . . it's hard. It takes it out of me. I'm already drained and now I'm exhausting myself by fighting with myself.

Jealous?

This is what I'll be discussing in therapy next week. It troubles me and I want it to stop.

I want to stop having to check myself all the time. However, I think with this illness, that will never happen. Maybe it will lesson over time, but I think it will always be necessary.

And I say boo to that.

WTF, self?

No, seriously, what the fuck?

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

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

Stupid fucking Ted.

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

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

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

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

I'm doing everything right.

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

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

Maybe I'm in denial.

At any rate, fuck you, Ted.  

Therapy and other stuff

I have a feeling this post is going to turn out more stream-of-consciousness than anything else. And I'm fine with that. This shit's for me anyway.

I had therapy this morning and it was a great session. I talked a lot about work (which surprised M as it's a subject I usually steer clear of), my mood swings as of late, sexual dysfunction and whatnot.

There's a few things I'm trying to figure out right now. First and foremost, my recent mood swings. I had some days where I've been downright depressed, where I've had irrational anger and irritability, or, on rare instances, where I've had fleeting moments of hypomania. The hypomania lasts around 30-60 minutes and is punctuated by racing thoughts, rapid speech, and inappropriate speech. In between this I'm usually okay. Typically down and withdrawn, but okay.

I'm trying to figure out why I've had this spike in emotional lability. At first I was thinking hormones (I never know when my "menstrual cycle" would be as I have no uterus). But it's been roughly 2 weeks of this now, more markedly the last week. So I'm not so sure this is it.

My other theory is work. Namely, the added stress of being back at work. I've been back for 3 weeks now and it's exhausting. The stress and drain I feel with it might be causing the cycling (which stress can do for us bipolars). And this stress is something that, sadly, I can do nothing about. I can do relaxation exercises, take hot baths, drink tea, whatever, but that doesn't remove the problem.

Now, about work . . . people have noticed a change in me. Several have remarked about how "quiet" I've become. Or how "tired" I always look. And I am quiet. I am tired. At work I've become more withdrawn. I tend to do okay with patients, just not with coworkers. If a conversation lasts longer than a couple of minutes I start to shut down. I can't handle it - I simply get overwhelmed and can't cope. And I hate that feeling. And people notice. And comment. And wonder if I'm really okay.

Work drains me. By 2 or 3 I'm pretty much done. I'm in shut down mode. My processing slows, I become more withdrawn, I can't concentrate or focus or cope with problems. People notice this too. And ask if I'm okay. I don't want people to ask if I'm okay. I don't want people to notice.

I've been doing some reading in bipolar magazines and on forums and the fatigue with work and with stress of work causing symptoms is pretty common. So at least I know I'm not alone. I guess. Go me.

I wish I knew why work tires me so much. I wish I knew why I find it so overwhelming and difficult to cope with. I want to know the what, why, and how of it. Why does stress trigger mood episodes? Exactly what the hell is going on inside my brain?

I'll probably never know the answers to those questions.

And while I'm writing, let's talk about the whole "I don't know who I am" bullshit. I know who I am. On some fundamental level, I know who I am. I still have the same sense of humor, the same loves and other "same" shit. But I have changed. I'm different and I am having to find and reinvent myself.

I don't like the process.

I find that overall I'm more down. Overall I'm more irritable and easily annoyed. I'm hoping this goes away because I don't like myself for it. It takes everything I've got not to beat myself up over it, too (something I'm brilliant at doing). Hopefully with time it will subside. But in the meantime it's quite bothersome.

My sex life is also bothersome. Or lack there of, I should say. No desire, no arousal, no orgasm. I got nothing. I might as well be watching cacti grow. I know it's a direct result of the geodon but I can't go off it now - I'm too terrified of what would happen.

But I want to actually enjoy sex. I'd like to actually have a sex life. Typically, sexual dysfunction is a deal breaker. But, I'm going to give it time in hopes of my body "growing out of" this whole sexual dysfunction phase. I don't think time is going to make one difference but hey - what else can I do? I plan on talking with Dr. C in April about it (that'll give me about 3.5 months on the medication) and see what he thinks. Originally the antipsychotic was going to be a temporary thing - maybe it still can be.

I guess that's all. For now at least. I have a headache and it's hard to concentrate on a computer screen when your eyes want to jump out of your skull.

I'm tired.

It's a bit stupid how tired I am. I worked two days in a row. Wednesday and Thursday.

And I'm exhausted.

Wednesday was slow, not too much going on. I had patients on the floor and did one delivery. Thursday was busier and my coworker and I did 8 deliveries. Both days I was drained and at times it showed. Both days I was alternately okay and withdrawn. Talking to coworkers proved too much to handle at times. I was okay with patients, thank God for small favors.

But two days in a row is apparently too much for me. I used to be able to work two or even three days in a row without any issues whatsoever. But not now. Now it's too much.

This morning I went to the riding center to muck stalls and that was actually a stupid move. It exhausted me further. I was tired this morning, drained and groggy. But I had perked up a little after taking my son to school so I decided fuck it - why not? So I went. And I made it 2 hours, surprisingly. I don't know how I did because I was so tired I thought I'd pass out. I think I made it out of sheer stupid stubbornness.

Mucking stalls is therapeutic for me, which is why I went. But I kinda wish I hadn't. I still haven't recovered. I'm drained and tired and exhausted. But I can't fall asleep to take a nap. Which is dumb.

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.

So About Work . . .

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

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

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

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

Or at least I was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How fucking terrifying is that??

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

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

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

Back to Work

Going back to work in the morning, 1st day back in over 5 weeks. I'm a bit nervous about it. Well, about certain aspects of it.

I don't want to answer questions. People, naturally, will ask questions. And I don't want to answer. I don't want to deal with it at all. There are people who I'll talk to, tell them what happened, but they are few and far between. I just don't want to deal with it.

I'm worried I'll get overwhelmed. That I'll need to go off by myself several times to "reboot". Which will probably lead to questions.

I'm worried about akathisia coming on while I'm at work. If it does, I'll have to take meds which could make me drowsy. If I don't take meds, there will be questions (constant movement, walking, antsy, anxious is hard to hide).

I'm worried about my concentration and focus. I notice deficits at home so I wonder what they'll be like at work.

I'm worried about how drained and exhausted I'll be during and after my shift. Hanging with friends completely exhausts me so I have a feeling work will be worse . . .

We'll see how it goes, I guess. There will be a blog post on it, though not tomorrow night - I doubt I'll be up for it.


In other news, I was close to losing my shit today. Today was my son's Cub Scout rocket races. All the scouts made rockets to race down a length of fishing line. There were a lot of kids. Like, I don't know, 20? Plus parents. Lot's of people. Lot's of noise.

Too much stimulation. Apparently.

I got antsy, anxious. I was pacing, rocking back and forth from foot to foot, side to side. One of the moms (whose house we were at) asked if I had to use the bathroom.

No, thanks. Just cold.

Actually, I'm just anxious and antsy and impatient for no good reason and the feeling is growing every minute, so much so that I want to scream and run away and hide.

Thanks, though.

My son's rocket took home the ribbon for "most creative". He painted it like a "creeper" from the game Minecraft.

Back to work . . .

So I'm going back to work on Monday after having been off for 5 weeks. Am I ready to go back? I don't know. I mean, I'm ready in that I want to be back and I'm getting pretty bored at home . . . but I don't know if I'm ready to be back.

I had coffee yesterday with a couple of friends and was, yet again, surprised at how tiring it was. It shouldn't be tiring - it's just coffee - but it was.

If seeing friends, and having coffee with friends is so tiring, so exhausting, how is a 12 hour shift at work going to be?

Well, we'll see.

The past few days I've been coming to terms with something else: how sick I truly was. I can't deny it anymore, even though I still try. I was sick. Very sick. I was mixed and then I was manic - full blown manic, for the first time ever. Then back to mixed. Then suicidal. All in a short period of time. It took a lot out of me. I'm still reeling from it.

There are other changes happening too. Something that I never even dreamed would happen . . .

Hubs and I are considering foreclosing on our house. Foreclosing and filing bankruptcy.

Because of my bipolar.

See, there's a very good possibility that I'm going to be going part time - less stress, better for my brain. But going part time puts an added financial strain on us. Could we afford to stay in our house? Of course! But things would be tight. And if something happened, if I was hospitalized again, or needed disability . . . well, that would be another story.

So we're considering foreclosure and bankruptcy, which is terrifying.

So much going on.

I hate it when I can't lie to myself . . .

I'm sitting on the couch watching the Broncos and Patriots game (going for the Broncos, btw - they're my team) and said to myself, self, you know what you should do right now? You should write.

And so I am.

I had a disturbing revelation yesterday while having lunch at a friend's house. These friends are pretty good friends, just ones that hubs and I don't see too often (they live over an hour away). We can share anything with them - we're comfortable like that. And so I shared about my last 3 months with them, as they only knew the bare basics.

This is where I had my disturbing revelation.

I was sick. Sick. Recounting my story, watching the expressions on their faces - expressions of mild shock, pity, and almost disbelief . . . It was difficult. It was eye opening. They saw the humor in my mania. They could joke about it which made me more comfortable. They asked questions. But I realized just how sick I truly was.

Talking about it takes away my ability to lie to myself about it. See, I like to tell myself that the last 3 months weren't as bad as they were. That I wasn't really that sick. When I say it out loud, all that goes away. I lose that lie. And losing that lie scares me a little.

I also realized this: I'm still sick.

We spent 5 hours at our friend's house and I left feeling emotionally and mentally exhausted. Completely drained and exhausted. Which forces me to consider the fact that I'm not recovered yet. Which scares me a little.

I was so sick I lost touch with reality - I was delusional. I was so sick I was suicidal.

And I'm not better yet. Yesterday made me realize how fragile I still am. How much my illness impacts my friends and family. And how quickly things can change.

And it makes me wonder how I'm going to do back at work. I go back the 27th. One week. If five hours with friends exhausts me, how is 12 hours at work at a busy birth center going to affect me?

I'm worried and a little bit scared.

Sometimes I get annoyed with shit.

No really. I do. Like medication side effects for example. Like side effects that I continue to get from my damn Geodon. Makes me want to cut a bitch.

So here's what's up. Last Friday Dr. C had me increase my dose of Geodon from 80mg to 120mg. He told me to take 80mg at night and 40mg in the morning to stave off morning grogginess. I had been having morning grogginess at the 80mg dose, but it was starting to ease up.

Well, guess what happens when I take my morning dose of Geodon?

That's right. I get groggy. Drowsy. Sometimes so much so that I can't even stand. Seriously. Are you fucking kidding me, Geodon? I mean, what the actual fuck??

Today I decided that I'm not taking that extra 40mg in the morning any more. I'm going to take it all at night. See what that does. If I keep getting groggy like this . . . well, that's a deal breaker. I can't work like this.

Speaking of work, I'm not going back until the 27th at the earliest. I'm not ready. I'm emotionally and mentally exhausted. Just . . . exhausted. Then add in the medication side effects and the akathisia (got that too, joy) and it's a no go. I talked with my manager at length about everything and she supports me 100%. I don't need to worry about work.

Huge weight off my shoulders.

I have nothing else poignant to say. Nothing at all.

So bye.

I'm Stubborn

And probably stupid.

Why? You ask. Work. Work is why.

See, I'm going back to work this Saturday (the 11th). I've been out since December 18th - 3 weeks. Which, in retrospect, doesn't seem very long. Three weeks off to get better from a long lived mixed episode and severe suicidal ideation.

I took 2 weeks off after my hospitalization in November. Worked two weeks, and then was back in the hospital. And now two weeks off then back to work. Not a good track record as of late.

I ask myself, am I ready to go back yet? My answer? I don't know. I've had a few days where I say YES! Yes I can go back! I'm all good y'all!

But I have days like today and yesterday and the day before where I'm anything but good. Where I most certainly do NOT feel like I'm okay to go back. I feel fragile - like I could shatter at any moment. It would just take the slightest knock . . .

I'm still getting overwhelmed easily. I'm still having anger and irritability. Racing thoughts every night (it takes me 2-3 hours to fall asleep thanks to my racing mind). And then I have this . . . horrid feeling. I'm pretty sure it's akathisia. We'll use yesterday as an example because yesterday was bad. I get this feeling like I need to move. I need to move or constantly be doing something. If I'm not I have this looming sense of dread, of impending doom. I get antsy and restless and anxious. I get highly agitated. If I'm not doing something, everything is pointless and I don't know how I'm going to make it through the day or cope with anything.

I felt like that all day yesterday. I drew, I sewed, I was on the computer. I paced in the kitchen constantly while dinner was cooking - I couldn't stop. I could hardly sit still to eat. And after I was finished I left. I left the house to go on a drive and smoke my electronic cigarette because I didn't know what else to do with myself. I was so antsy and agitated it's all I could think to do.

While I was driving something hit me. Hit me hard. I realized how profoundly exhausted I am. Mentally and emotionally exhausted. I came out of a major depressive episode this summer to a month or so of relative stability, only to be thrust head first into a full blown mixed episode for the last 3-4 months.

I have not had a break.

I'm in a constant state of emotional chaos and I'm goddamned FUCKING tired.

I finally realized this last night while driving around, listening to music, and smoking.

When I take all of this into account, how I really feel, how tired I am . . . I'm not ready to go back. But I am. I am going back. This Saturday. Because I'm stupid. I guess I need to see if I can handle it. I need to prove to myself, to J, to M, to my friends and coworkers that I'm okay. I got this guys, I'm fine. I'm going to put everyone ahead of me. I know this is what I'm doing and yet I do it anyway. I have my pride to think of, people. And that good 'ol financial burden - not a good thing to foreclose on your house.

And think of this too: I go back, I can't handle it, I have to take more time off. What does that do for me?? Makes me look even worse. Wow, she must be really sick - she can't handle being at work. What if I lose my shit at work? What then?

But what if I'm perfectly fine to go back? What if all of this is just me being nervous about going back? What if I'm just psyching myself out? What if I'm really fucking fine?

I don't know what the fuck I should really do. I don't want to jeopardize my health. But I also don't want to jeopardize my job.

Or my stubborn pride.

The Obligatory New Year's Post

Happy New Year, blah blah blah.

I typically don't do new year's resolutions. Planning something on this day doesn't make it any more likely that you'll succeed than if you planned it on any other day. It's a day to make empty promises to yourself to make you feel better about yourself.

So let's get this show on the road. Here are my New Year's Lies To Myself:
1. I will not be funny.
2. I will not get better.
3. I will not shovel a shit ton of manure.

I think 3 is a respectable number of lies. Golly, I hope I live up to them!! (that is sarcastic font by the way. Pretty snazzy, yeah? You're welcome.)

In other news, the Geodon seems to be reaching more therapeutic levels. I'm feeling better, not as much irritability or anger. Thank the baby DeJesus!! My sleeping is also starting to mellow out - not as much grogginess.

Yesterday I spent the day in Estes Park with my two favorite people (hubby and son - though I would've taken Tom Hiddleston . . .). I was calm, peaceful, and happy for the most part. I had a few moments where I could have lost my cool, but I kept it under wraps. Go me! *high fives self*

Driving home I did get a little hypo manic - racing thoughts, pressured speech, slight irritability. I had this idea for a painting of a wolf barfing out ravens. Hundreds of ravens. No, I don't know why - my brain is stupid. But there was this urgency in needing to get this painting done. Like, yesterday. Fuck everything I have to paint!! But after we got home I calmed down and the painting idea seemed a bit dumb. I had no desire to paint it. I'm sure if I remained hypo I would have stayed up however late necessary to finish it though.

Today I've been stable as well. Not as groggy this morning. My son and hubby wanted to teach me how to play Minecraft. Now, let me start by saying I don't play video games. My days of video games died out with the first playstation. I just don't play. So now we have my hubby and 6 year old trying to teach me how to use a controller with like 30 buttons. I don't even think I'm exaggerating.

I probably am.

But it feels like 30 buttons. That's the point. That, and I don't play video games. And Minecraft is boring (I've watched them play for a little bit before). But oh well, let's play.

No.

Not only no, but hell no.

I managed about 5 minutes of play before I felt like my whole world was going to crash down around me. Literally. I was instantly overwhelmed and anxious and felt like crying and hiding and giving up on life.

With this, I'm not exaggerating. What the fuck, self? Seriously? Seriously?? How fucking stupid is that? Here, have a controller. Noooooooooo! *runs screaming in other direction, sobs uncontrollably*   

I handed the controller to J and told them that I'd watch. It took me a half an hour to fully calm down. And this is why we can't have nice things.

That last bit didn't make sense, but I don't really care.

So I still get overwhelmed easily it seems. Which makes me worry for work. I'm taking an extra week off at the "suggestion" of J and my therapist. Neither of them feel that I'm ready to go back to work and that if I do, I'll end up sick again. Which is probably true. But pride people. I has it, and I hate missing yet another week of work.

But a controller to an Xbox 360 almost made me lose my shit. So I see their point.

Well played, brain. Well played.

Bollocks

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

And it's frustrating.

Whoooo!

I went almost a week without a post! I've actually been busy and not quite in the mood to write. Mainly because I've been busy. And tired. But lots happened.

Last Sunday, my first day back to work (when I was put on call), I ended up being called in at 1400 for the nursery. I did a whole buncha nothing until 1830 when I was called to a delivery. It went well, I did my thing and was leaving the room around 1850 when the labor and delivery charge came racing towards me yelling "STAT C/S NOW, DR. B's PATIENT! ABRUPTION!" (an abruption is when the placenta detaches before the baby is born - very bad). I ran back to the nursery, literally threw my stuff down, grabbed a new tackle box and ran to the OR. Got in there at 1852, baby was born at 1855 essentially dead. Resuscitated and baby did great. An interesting first day back (I should also mention that I LOVE doing resuscitations - I think I'm the only one there that does).

I worked Wednesday and Thursday, both days in the nursery, and both days went well (and were very busy). So far no issues with going back to work and everyone is respecting my privacy and not asking questions.

I had therapy with M on Tuesday which went very well (as always - love that man). Towards the end of my session I mentioned how with everything that had been going on, I felt like I needed a parent. A parent to hug and cry to. I don't have that with my mom and wouldn't be comfortable with it. At all. And my dad . . .well my dad died in 2000 of lung cancer (he was 43). Now, I'm not going into any detail right now. My dad was my confidant, my hero. I only really opened up to him. I was a daddy's girl 100%. I love him and I miss him. And that grief and sense of loss was raw and overwhelming on Tuesday. I spent the afternoon and evening crying. I cried the big ugly cry every time - you know, the one where you sob uncontrollably and snot is flying everywhere . . .THAT cry. And I needed to. And it was good to let it out. And it was actually refreshing to be crying for something OTHER than depression/hopelessness/emptiness/etc.

Therapy with Chance again yesterday (Friday). He was helpful as always, knew what I needed and responded quickly and comfortably with me. I drew on him with chalk. And he rather enjoyed it. :) The next 2 weeks are the weeks off for the horses so I won't see him until April 5th. Makes me sad, but I'll live :P

One last thing - I'm trying something risky. I'm stopping my thyroid medication. Why is this risky? Because my catastrophic depressive downswing could have been triggered by hypothyroidism. So I'm stopping my thyroid meds. To purposefully induce hypothyroidism. To see if the same thing happens again. I have an appointment with an endocrinologist, but the earliest I can be seen is June 10th. Yeah. JUNE 10TH. The fuck. So, trying this. If I go hypothyroid, and the depression doesn't come, well, then it's probably not the trigger. However, if depression DOES come, then I'll be having my primary doc give me a referral to Denver or ANYWHERE I can get in to see an endo doc WAY sooner than June 10th. And with the current dose of thyroid meds I'm on, I'm HYPERthyroid (if I drop the dose slightly I swing the other way). And let's be honest - the hyperthyroid symptoms are becoming quite bothersome (constipation, hot flashes,increased appetite, brittle nails that split and crack, insanely dry, itchy skin, and my hair is starting to thin and break). So we'll see. This should be interesting.

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'm so bloody tired

I am so. Bloody. Tired. I haven't been sleeping well the past 4-5 nights. And when I say not sleeping well, I mean 2-3 hours a night. My mind is racing the minute my head touches the pillow. I even resorted to taking a klonopin the night before last. At least then I got 6 hours of sleep.

And there's been a lot going on. Mentally, emotionally. I'm getting so stressed over everything and angry and I just want to cry. I could cry at any given moment for no reason. I'm trying not to catastrophize things, but sometimes it's hard not to.

I had therapy on Thursday. We talked about work - I'm very stressed about work (I'll save the details for another post). I was almost in tears the whole time. I didn't cry, but it was there. I had brought my 3 latest paintings and we talked about those. I also asked him what he and Dr. C had been talking about the previous week - as they had been talking about me. And M said that they're worried about me. When they saw all of my paintings laid out before them (they had 30 of them), they were overwhelmed. The honestly couldn't go through them all because they were a little too powerful and distressing. But here's the thing - they're worried about me. About my state of mind, about my emotional well-being. I think I mentioned that Dr. C says I'm one of the worst cases of bipolar depression he's seen in awhile. M said that he's very glad that we're doing weekly sessions. And I do know that they consult each other back and forth about patients in general, and certainly about me.

And here's the thing - I know they care. I do. I always think though - I'm not that special. I wonder if they do this with other patients, this almost seemingly preferential treatment (for me, meaning using my paintings in a presentation, sharing them with other people, taking what seems to be special interest in me . . .I don't know). Or if it just feels that way. I would think it just feels that way. I feel a very strong connection to both, but I'm sure all of their patients do. And I'm nothing special. I don't even know why I'm bringing it up. Fuck it.

Anyway, my moods have been everywhere. Horrible stress at work. Melancholy to depressed feelings. Thursday before therapy was bad. Having those naughty suicidal thoughts again. But trying to look alright. Insane anger and stress and frustration and hopelessness at work. Extreme exhaustion. Some happiness, fleetingly. Most of the time I'm in this down state, pushing on through because there's nothing else I can do. Feeling numb to most things except the irritability. And it really is frustrating and stupid. It's no way to move through life. It seems I can't quite move through this stage. I wonder if this is just how I am. Numb. Little flits of happiness, extreme bouts of depression, and the rest of the time, numb.

I think I'll end this now. I'm so very tired, and I want to sleep. Later I may read through this and add to it. I don't know. Soon I'll be writing my "work" post. Next couple of days I think.

Exploring again

I'm not entirely sure how to start this post. There have been a few interesting things going on over the past few days. So lets just start with the mood run down, shall we?

Saturday. I worked Saturday, and it was my first day of training for charge nurse. Yay? Notice the question mark? Yeah. I was so withdrawn and down and otherwise out of it on Saturday. Not really there. I tried to be there. I really did. Especially since I was training with one of my two best friends. But no. I faked it alright . . .but that's not the same, is it? And it got me thinking about if I really wanted the position or my job anymore. I have, after all, been thinking of changing areas for the last 2 years. But that bit is for another post. Too long for this one. The important thing is that I wasn't there. I wasn't happy. Even though I tried to be.

Sunday, if you read the previous post, I spent in the ER and in bed. Which was a delight. I'm still getting vertigo spells every now and then. Which sucks.

Monday - aka Christmas Eve. My psychiatrist Dr. C wanted to see me. Because of the post I emailed him about cutting myself. He's worried. We went in around 1130, J, myself and our son. We talked a bit about my post. We talked about my continued depressive downswings. We talked about my medications and what we could add/tweak/try. What was scary is how concerned he was. What was scary is how he mentioned being able to get me in to see a specialist out of state. What was scary is how difficult he thinks my bipolar depression is and will be to treat. And what is scary is all of this. All. Of. This. And what is scary is that I'll be fighting for the rest of my life. And what is scary is the prospect of having deeper and worse depressive episodes where I may not have the self control that I do now. It's enough to make me want to scream and cry at the same time. To pound my fists against the wall, hard enough to bust through, to draw blood, to do anything to release the fear and frustration and anger and hurt.

But that would be playing it up, yes? Making it worse than it is? Being dramatic for attention? Fuck the fact that this is very real. The risk is real. All of that? All of that is real. The tears I'm fighting back while writing this . . .they're real. But why should I wax poetic . . .I'm only looking for attention . . .

Tuesday - aka Christmas. We left the house for my mom's with me in full blown vertigo - which made for interesting stumbling episodes. I have to say it was rather pleasant. Yummy food, hanging with my bro . . .and after we headed home and my friend the bottomless pit of my soul said "hey Cami, you know what would be awesome? It would be awesome to question your existence!". So instead I went and took a nap. At least with sleep I can ignore the emptiness. I, of course, didn't tell J this. Again for the seeking attention thing. So instead I hid that pit as best I could.

And now I'm typing this while listening to Silversun Pickups. Over the past few weeks, and more noticeably the past sever days, my anger and irritability has been increasing exponentially. I'm barely able to contain it. Often I can't. It's boiling just below the surface and I don't know when it will finally blow. Some escaped last night when I blew up at J over cough medicine. I screamed at him over fucking cough medicine. That's not okay. I calmed down. I apologized. But that never should have happened in the first place. And I felt horrible. And I beat myself up over it. What the hell is wrong with me? Why can't I just cope? I know the answer . . .but I don't. And nobody gets it.

Tomorrow I'm going to box. I'm going to kick and punch the shit out of my heavy bag. And I'm going to make tomorrow better. That's what I tell myself. And I'll believe it.

While writing this post, I've come up with another painting idea. This will be number 33 in a series that was supposed to be one . . .I don't think people will like this as much as some . . .it will invoke negative feelings. Yes.