Depression

My depression is getting worse. I've broke down sobbing twice today. I don't want to talk to people about it because I'm being "selfish". I'm trying to take things one day at a time but it's getting harder each day and things that once brought me joy just don't anymore. Not even mucking stalls, which I did today, helped my mood. I'm tired of this.

The End.

My Therapist Made Me Mad

Let me start by saying this: I love my therapist. Love him. He's supported me, helped me and saved my life twice (literally - twice). He's funny, thoughtful and compassionate. He's everything a therapist should be.

But he said something at our last session (2 weeks ago) that made me mad. More than that - it pissed me right off and hurt me.

Just how much therapy do you need, Cami?

He was getting confrontational with me (which he does sometimes to make me really think) when that gem popped out. I was too flabbergasted to say anything at the time. As the week went on, I thought about it more and more and realized how much it affected me.

Why? Well, I've been seeing him for 2 years and I've just started figuring shit out. Finally I'm making great progress. I'm figuring this shit out people. I've been working hard. And that comment . . . it made me feel like a failure. Like I should have hit this point long ago.

I was furious over this, over how it made me feel. How could he say such a thing? I mulled it over and over in my mind, no doubt making it worse. I considered throwing in the towel. I told no one about it until last night when I broke down to my husband. He pointed out that M probably didn't mean anything like that, didn't mean to hurt me. And pointed out how I overreact emotionally. To everything. Which is true (part of bipolar, right?). Talking to him calmed me and made me feel a little better.

This morning I had therapy and planned on confronting M about his comment. And confront him I did. I told him exactly how it made me feel. I didn't raise my voice and I didn't cry. I was visibly angry and nervous and I was shaking (I don't do confrontations well).

I also cussed. Cause that's what I do when I'm upset. Apparently.

M apologized profusely. He said in all honestly he didn't remember saying that but he would never say anything to hurt me and was very sorry that he had. He thanked me for bringing it up and pointing it out to him - he wants feedback if he says something wrong or inappropriate. We talked at length about the situation and how I felt, what I needed, what I wanted.

And what I wanted was to be heard and to be validated. Which M did time and time again throughout our session. And I feel much better now. I feel at peace about it. He even said he wouldn't even think about discharging me a a patient - I need quite a bit more therapy (I'm crazy y'all! :P )

So in the end, I feel satisfied. I feel happy about it, I feel validated, I feel at peace. I feel that our relationship is actually better because of our honesty with each other.

So yeah. There ya go.

Holy Shit Y'all

Let me catch you up to speed.

I saw Dr. C on Wednesday about my looming depression. I was thinking that I just need to suck it up and deal with it. He says, no, I don't. I don't need to feel the way I've been feeling.

So we're starting me on Wellbutrin, which I was on before and it was starting to help with the depression in September (then I went all mixed and manic and we had to stop it). We're also increasing the dose of my Lamictal.

I asked him about stopping the Geodon. When I was started on an antipsychotic, he said it was only temporary to get me through the mixed episode. I told him I'd like to try going off of it as I'm pretty sick of not having orgasms. No desire, no arousal, no orgasm. It sucks. He said it was fine, but to drop from 80mg a night to 40mg for a week and then stop it after that.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

So, being given the go ahead to wean off the Geodon, I found myself terrified. Because I don't know how my body will react to this. I may go straight into another mixed or manic episode. It may be worse. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe I'll explode. I don't know.

But there's only one way to find out, right?

Last night was my first night at the decrease dose of 40mg. I didn't sleep well. But I woke up feeling wide awake and energized. And then antsy. And anxious. And impatient. And my mind was racing. And I mean racing. So fucking fast.

I went to go muck stalls and I felt less anxious. But my mind was going and going and would get fixated on a phrase or song lyric and replay it over and over and I couldn't stop it. Or I'd manage to stop it but some other phrase or song lyric would get stuck and I couldn't focus or concentrate and I was flustered and annoyed.

After mucking, exhaustion hit (I worked yesterday and it was stupid fucking busy - so this, with lack of sleep . . .). But I was still anxious and antsy and my mind was still going. I went to the store and the post office and stopped briefly at a friend's house. While I was at L's house I could hardly concentrate on anything she was saying because my mind wouldn't SHUT THE FUCK UP.

And now I'm home and I'm exhausted and I have this really awesome IRRATIONAL RAGE and I'm even pissed off at air. Mother. Fucking. Air. My mind is still racing. I'm typing this so fast trying to keep up with it and I'm making so many typos that I have to go back and fix which just fuels my rage but I can't stop typing fast because I can hardly form a rational thought.

It's song lyrics right now. "Don't assume, that I need your love". After the Disco by Broken Bells. Over and over and over and I love the song but Clancy what the fuck are you kidding me right now???

I'm hoping this is just rebound from lowering the dose and that once my body adjusts I'll be good and this shit will stop. Because if this continues, God help us all. I probably will explode. Which would be a huge horrible mess that hubby will end up having to clean and then he'll resent me forever for it but I'll be dead so I won't really care.

Run on sentences FTW.

Somebody fucking shoot me.

Acceptance

I couldn't sleep last night. My mind was racing, filled with anything and everything. It kept coming back to work or what I was going to tell Dr. C next week. Round and round it went so that even when I did sleep, my mind was racing in my dreams.

It was exhausting.

An one point, around 1am, I had almost a mini epiphany. I even got out of bed to jot it down in my journal so I wouldn't forget the thought.

And here it is:

I have yet to accept that I have bipolar disorder. I know I have it, don't get me wrong, but I haven't truly accepted that fact yet. All I'm doing is trying to control an uncontrollable illness. To make neat and orderly what must stay in chaos. To make black and white what is truly every shade of grey known to man.

I haven't accepted this.

Here's the thing - in order to live with bipolar disorder one must practice flexibility and forgiveness. Forgiveness of one's self. I suck at this. I'm flexible with most everything except bipolar disorder. In my mind, I have to do everything perfectly - including controlling the symptoms. I don't forgive myself when things aren't "perfect". If I have a bad day, I've failed. If I've had a string of bad days and I have a good one - I've failed. How does that even make sense??

My view is this: I'm either stable or sick, good or bad, up or down. There is no in-between. So when my mood fluctuates, when it changes or cycles (which moods do), it doesn't fit into my narrow view of what things "should" be. If I'm sick, I should just be sick and not have stable days in-between. If I'm stable, I should just be stable and not have bad days in-between.

This is a highly inaccurate view of bipolar disorder (and of my whole damn world).

Because you know what? Moods vary. Moods change. They fluctuate day to day. I'm going to have a string of really bad days followed by some good ones - and that's okay. I'm going to be stable for awhile and then go manic for a day or two - and that's okay. It's going to happen - that's the nature of bipolar disorder.  I'll never stop it from happening - my mood episodes will come whether I want them to or not, and I can't change, predict, or control that.

So I need to accept that. I need to accept that I have bipolar disorder and that I don't have to be perfect. That this will never be perfect. That my moods may change drastically in the course of a day and I might as well just enjoy the ride.

The sooner I accept this, the sooner I can be flexible and forgive myself, the sooner I can heal and move on.

And I don't have to be perfect at this, either.

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.

Fuck you, self

I'm sitting here very restless but very apathetic. There is a torrent of thoughts racing through my mind, none of them good. I hate this feeling. This feeling of needing to do something, anything, but having no idea what to do. But of also not caring enough to even try. Of knowing that everything you do is pointless so there's no sense in doing anything.

I have still been down. I have still felt empty and lost and confused. I have still been horribly withdrawn and, early this morning, I was unaware of this fact. I felt somewhat okay this morning. Sure, maybe I was a little down. Maybe I was feeling a little empty, even a little irritated, but I was okay, right?

Until my best friend, L, came over. Then, I realized, just how not okay I was. I was acutely aware of how down I was feeling. I was acutely aware of how withdrawn I still am (she even made mention of it). Truth be told, I didn't want to talk, I didn't want her company, I didn't want anything except to disappear.

But I couldn't disappear. I couldn't even go on a drive and smoke. See, my son is home sick from school. Can't really take him around with me on a self destructive spree.

So I painted/drew with him and then read while he played games on his kindle.

And I had bad thoughts.

I thought about taking pills. I needed to escape what I was feeling and taking pills seemed like a viable option. But everything I have will sedate me. Which is fine if it only did that for a few hours but the last time I tried it I was in and out of consciousness for a day and a half. I need uppers. I have no uppers. I need percocet so I can feel high. I have no percocet.

So then I thought about alcohol. But the problem with that is drinking with my meds. I can't even take a fucking Benadryl with my meds without being so knocked out the next morning that I can't function. I have therapy in the morning! I have to be functional!

I thought about stopping all of my meds. So that I can maybe be manic. Get the high of mania - the euphoria, energy, on top of the world feeling coupled with invincibility. But that would prove highly destructive.

I'm considering anorexia. I'm not even fucking joking. A slow form of self harm that, hey - will maybe make me look good! Weight loss isn't all bad!

I want to destroy things but I don't have the energy. I want to punch but in order to be satisfied I need to hurt myself.

And I think about all of these things, these self destructive things, and I can't help but wonder if this is all just me trying to self sabotage. I'm trying to make my situation worse. Bring about crisis. Because we all know that I don't seem to function without some form of motherfucking crisis.

I know this. And I'm doing everything to try and counter this thinking. It's not healthy. I'm not healthy. But no matter how hard I try and counter, it doesn't change the fact that the feelings are there. That the thoughts are there. They're FUCKING THERE and nothing I do seems to work!

What the hell am I supposed to do? I see what I'm doing. I know what I'm doing. It's there, right in front of me. And still it happens. And I try, and right now I seem to be failing. I'm too much for myself. I can't counter my own sick mind and I'm going to make things worse.

What. The fuck. Do I do?

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.