Things to come

I'm working on a long post about suicide. Not all of it will be posted on here - it's for my book, but you'll get an excerpt. I'm doing some research on it and have found out some interesting things - especially when it comes to me asking people of their opinions. You'll see.

Mood wise, I've been a bit of a mess. I've taken Nuvigil (a temporary "upper") every day, and still I'm having problems with depression and emptiness. I've had some extreme suicidal thoughts and was scarily suicidal on Friday - to the point where I took pills (xanax, ativan, and klonopin). Not enough to kill myself (obviously), but enough to render me unconscious for around 12 hours. An escape. Just an escape.

I'm downplaying that. Probably too much as it was serious (I had a hard time not taking more), but what can I do, really? Nothing. Let's be honest - people don't want to hear about it. So I'll downplay and ignore it.

So there we go! Short and sweet tonight, as I'm in desperate need of ice cream. Double fudge brownie, if I remember correctly.

I am self destructive . . .

I am. I'm feeling VERY self destructive. I want to cut or put my fist through a wall or do something anything to hurt myself. I want to smoke and drink and run away and hide and take all of my klonopin and xanax. I want to do ALL of these things. All of these things that I shouldn't be thinking about, that I shouldn't be wanting to do. All of these things are scary. And not just for me.
My irrational, explosive anger has been almost impossible to keep under wraps. Everything sets me off. Nothing sets me off. I'm annoyed with everything. However small the infraction, the angers swells and grows to the boiling point within minutes. It takes everything I have to not lash out with strings of obscenities and flying fists. It takes everything. I'm left feeling exhausted, empty, frustrated and near tears. And this happens numerous times a day. Five times? Ten? More? All of the above.
Tuesday, in fact, I left work at 0945 because of the above scenario. I couldn't cope. I had a complete mental and emotional  breakdown. I saved the crying for the drive home at least. I was ready to strangle someone, or throw all the computers off the desk, or shatter a window or mirror, or take a scalpel to myself. So I left. I went home. I slept. I felt a little better. Wednesday I was a little better, not as irritable, not as volatile. But I still had issues. I still had to use so much energy keeping everything under wraps.
And today. Today. It started out okay. Not too bad. But it didn't last long. Small infractions kept building up. I was having a hard time being okay. My fragile facade was wearing thin. Driving home from support group (which, sadly didn't happen), I seriously considered running my truck into the side rail. Not to kill myself. I don't want to die. But I could be hurt. I could be out of commission for awhile. No work or responsibility. . .  But I couldn't. That's not rational. That's not right. That's not me. Besides, I'd be pissed if I couldn't go to the gym.
But the problem is that I'm having these thoughts. I'm so angry/frustrated/irritable/explosive/volatile/teetering on the edge of self destruction; I'm so near tears all the time over everything I'm feeling; I'm so tired of this instability that my mind seems to think that self harm is the answer. I don't know what to do any more. I'm running out of coping mechanisms. Positive readings, meditation, working out, writing, trying to talk . . .it's not working. I'm at a loss.
I need help.

Everything is so very confusing . . .

I don't know what's up with me lately. My emotions are everywhere, changing at any given moment. Not extreme. These are mild fluctuations, but still outside the realm of what I consider normal for me. And it's just . . .tiring. And frustrating. Though I suppose I'm getting used to it. I don't want this to be my new normal though.
I'll start by finishing with Thursday. Thursday night to be exact. Most of Thursday was tolerable. Good, in fact. That night though, I was antsy and nervous. I didn't want to leave the house but I wanted to get the hell out of there. I wanted to drive aimlessly around, blaring music and smoking and forget everything. Which is what I did when I was younger. And this is what I wanted to do. Instead, I actually took 2 shots and a xanax. Not a good thing. That could become a slippery slope.
Friday. It started well. I felt good. For most of the day actually. My mood dipped when I told my 2 closest friends about my past. It's hard to do. But it quickly returned to upbeat. I smoked a cigarette in the afternoon as I was feeling a little anxious. Had dinner with our amazing friends. Still, mood elevated. What's wrong with that, you ask? I was feeling hyper sexual. The feeling is one of the most annoying feelings I've had to experience. The urgency, the pressuring need to masturbate is overwhelming. To masturbate, or have sex, or show of my body in some manner . . .I really don't like it. I mean, sex, yes. But the fact that I feel like I literally have to pleasure myself . . .several times a day . . .fuck. It's also embarrassing. To talk about and even write about. Oh well.
Now today, I had the moods that were everywhere. Just, all. Over. The. Fucking. Place. Again, mild swings. But swings none the less. But with more irritability. Because that's always fun to have thrown in the mix. I wanted to cry and punch the wall today. I wanted to curl up in a ball and just sleep. Sleep until everything went away. People, feelings, everything.
And then I started feeling sick. Which doesn't mesh with my plans for this week. At all. Which made me more irritable and frustrated. Then I get to hear bad news about a coworker's sister who's dying (she's 20, I believe). Which dropped my already failing mood.
This. This is what's frustrating. Normal people can bounce back from crap like this. Me? My moods spiral out of my control and I have to work hard to rein them back in. Which is stressful and tiring.
I probably sound like all I do is complain. I feel more stable than I have since the beginning of July (when this whole mood episode started). Maybe my meds need more time or tweaking. Maybe weekly therapy session for a little longer before going back to every 2 weeks. Maybe I need to suck it up and stop whining.
Hopefully this vent will have me feeling better in the morning. Well, that and my Tylenol cold and flu.
Fucking head cold.

Ooooo, It's Saturday

A very creative title, I know. You're welcome for that.
I  had planned on writing last night, but there was too much stimulation in the house and I was too tired to try and concentrate. It seems silly sometimes to update the couple of random people who may stumble upon this blog, but it's helpful for me. So let's get on with it, shall we?
Thursday. Was not too bad, actually. I worked that day, a full patient load, and my patients were all quite lovely. I floated through the day with my head just below the surface - feeling a little melancholy, depressed - and couldn't seem to bring it above the water. No matter. I've had thousands of days like that. Who knows - maybe that's what my baseline is. All in all, not a bad day.
Friday. My alarm clock woke me from a nightmare. A nightmare about my rape. A nightmare so vivid, I almost screamed out and was near tears. I kept reminding myself it was a dream, I was at home and I was safe. I calmed down slightly in the shower and I became convinced that my rapist was going to be at my work, his girlfriend or wife having a baby and I would be the one at the delivery. Why did I think this? Hell if I know (though there were snippets of that in my nightmare). I was a bit frantic as I left for work, my anxiety building as I got there. I immediately checked the names of everyone in labor and of everyone coming in to be induced. At least there was no matching last name. Still, my anxiety climbed. I sat down to get report and was called to a delivery. As I entered the room, I was in near panic and unable to calm myself. I tended to the baby who required resuscitation with shaking hands, trying to focus solely on what I was doing. Luckily, I was only in there for 25 minutes - because when I got back to the nursery I almost collapsed into a shaking ball of worthlessness. C, who was charge nurse on the floor, was in there and talked to me while I took my Xanax sub lingually (thank GOD I had remembered to bring it with me). She's someone who I trust, and I told her why I was so upset - I told her about the rape (not details, mind you, but that it happened, I was finally working through it, and I was having nightmares). She told me some of her own past (which I won't mention here - confidentiality for her) and how it took her almost 15 years to be able to talk about it. It helped. A lot. And so did the Xanax, of course. Calmed me down in around 10 minutes.
I also happened to tell my friend T. I've know T since high school, we've worked together since college (both before and after nursing school), and we were in nursing school together. She also knows my rapist. And I told her about it. I felt I needed to - another way to air out those bones. And she was pissed - though not shocked - by what he had done.
Here's the thing: it felt better to tell some trusted people. It lightens the load. And it's part of working through everything I'm feeling now. And the rest of my day went very well - I was in good spirits, my head above the water for once.
Also?
My dog has bad gas.
Thought you should know.