fuck

There's a good chance that I should be in the hospital right now. And if I'm thinking that . . . well . . .

It's just that I'm struggling - really struggling right now. I can't keep my moods managed. I'm irrationally angry or I'm sobbing and full of despair. Maybe it's my new med, Prestiq, causing this. Or not. Maybe it's something entirely different. I have no fucking clue but I'm not doing well.

I feel like I can't cope with anything. I want to curl in a little ball and block out all stimulation. I want to cut. I want to scream and throw things. These are the only ways I can see myself coping.

This morning I drove to my mother-in-law's house to pick up my son. I had to pull over because I was crying so hard I couldn't see. Pulled myself together, got him and went to work with my horses. Felt a little better. Okay. Good. See? You'll be fine. You're fine.

As I drove home, my anger was building. We went grocery shopping, my anger was building. Putting away groceries I yelled at my son and I could feel the anger spiraling out of control. So I went to my bedroom and sat down. Figured I'd give myself a little "time out", do some deep breathing, gain my composure and control.

Instead, I lost my shit and cried for 30+ minutes. I kept thinking, I wish hubs and the boy didn't care so much, that way I could just go, just be done with it. I was staring at my wrists through my tears, visually tracing the cuts I would make.

No.

I kept telling myself, "I don't want to die. I'm going to live." My new mantra. Over and over. I know the constant thoughts about death and suicide are because of the depression. Depression lies. I know this. Think of all the good. There's so much good. So many people love me and care about me.

I know this. I know all of this. But I sit and sob and stare at my wrists.

I'm so fucking sick of this.

My Brain is Stupid

*Disclaimer: this post might be a rambling, jumble of nonsense. There is, I think, a high probability of that happening. You've been warned.*

I have now, officially, had 14 ECT treatments. The first 2 weeks were 3 times a week (my first treatment was June 1), then I went to weekly for several weeks, and now I'm every other week. If I was following Dr. M's trajectory, I'd be every 3 or every 4 weeks by now.

But I'm not following his trajectory. My depression is stubborn. My depression is a fucking asshole. My brain, Clancy, is being a huge fucking dick and is making things difficult.

Let me start by saying this: my depression is a lot better than what it was before ECT. If the ECT wasn't helping, I would be dead. I had it planned. So let's get this important piece of information clear: the ECT is helping.

But here's the rub: it's not holding me.

What do I mean by that? Well, I'll be floating along, doing pretty well for about a week to a week and a half after a treatment. And then my mood starts to slip, my mood starts to falter, starts to sink. Depression starts to sneak its way in. This lasts several days until I have my next treatment and then the process starts again. I've noticed the pattern, the nurses at the hospital have noticed the pattern, and Dr. M has noticed the pattern.

Now, this wouldn't be a big deal, I guess, if it were only a day or two. But it's not. It's 4 days or 5 days or 7 days. Each time it's more, longer. Over the past 4 or 5 weeks I've spent more time depressed than not - and that's NOT okay with me. That's NOT how this is supposed to fucking work.

I had ECT last Monday and then saw Dr. M in his office in the afternoon for a regular appointment, where we discussed all of this. He said we need to figure something out medication wise to help hold me over between ECT treatments, as we need to at least get those spaced to once a month (the ultimate goal is once every 6 weeks). We discussed options and decided to stop my Lexapro and switch me over to Prestiq. Now, as with any med change, it will take several weeks at least to see any changes.

Which fucking sucks because I feel like shit.

I'm floating around with this low grade depression. I call it low grade because I'm not actively suicidal. Notice I said not "actively" suicidal - I still think about killing myself. Every day.

So anyway, I'm floating around in this low grade depression. I'm not sobbing every day, breaking down, anything dramatic like that. I just don't care about much of anything. It's like I can't really muster up any emotion except for anger. I feel like I need to cry; I just can't. I don't have the emotion to make it happen. I don't want to do anything. I don't want to go to work or clean the house or draw or paint or play with my son or have sex or cook or exercise or talk to people. I force myself to do stuff - I don't allow myself to just stare into space - but it's difficult and I just don't care.

The only strong emotion I can muster is anger. And I'm fucking angry at everything. That's not an exaggeration. Every little fucking thing makes me angry. The littlest things set me off. Simple things, like misspelling a word while I'm typing, or needing to go to the bathroom. People talking to me or me dropping something. Every. Little. Fucking. Thing. And the anger is very volatile. It goes from nothing to full on rage in no time. I hate it.

Oh hey - remember how at the beginning I said jumbled mess of a post? Everything prior to this I wrote Sunday morning. Then I got cranky and went downstairs to workout. I got on my spin bike and then broke down sobbing. J came downstairs and held me, stayed with me. I kinda wanted to die. And by "kinda wanted" I mean I wanted to die. Sunday ended up pretty shitty mood wise.

This little bit I'm writing Monday. I don't know how I'm feeling today. Okay, I guess. I started the day VERY angry. Then I talked with a friend and went and worked with horses and that helped. Now I just feel . . . empty. I'm sitting here drinking some hot mint tea and I start thinking, ooooo, I can't wait until it's colder outside and I can wear sweaters and sip hot tea! And then my mind immediately reminds me that everything is pointless and hopeless and I would truly be better off dead.

It's like I can't just have a nice fucking thought. My brain has to go and fuck it up. This is very frustrating and I'm so sick of it. I'm tired of struggling.

Showing Some Improvement

These past few weeks, overall, have been the best weeks I've had in a long while. My mood, overall, has been less depressed, less full of hopelessness and despair, and less full of bitter rage. That's not to say I'm not having these feelings - because I am - but they're not as intense and aren't lasting for as long.

So what's changed? What's different? In a word: I don't know.

I really don't know. I have some ideas, sure, but they're just ideas I have happened to pull out of my ass. Me acting like a psychiatrist, tossing theories around.

First off, have you heard of the Spoon Theory?  If not, go read it. Seriously. Please. Taking the 2-3 minutes it takes to read it will be so much more beneficial to you than having me try to explain it. So please - go read it. Here's the link again, just for fun: HOLY FUCK I'M A LINK!

Alright. You back? Good. How was it? Pretty fucking awesome, right?

So. One thing I've decided to do is to apply the spoon theory to my life. Because bipolar disorder? Chronic fucking illness. It's a chronic fucking illness that takes a lot out of me. Every day. Some days worse than others. And I've discovered that I really can't do it all, and that the more that I try to, the more miserable I am.

But there's more than that. See, I grew up in an alcoholic home and a bi-product of that is this pesky sense of perfectionism I have. Everything has to be perfect. Has to be. This makes me miserable because nothing is ever good enough. There are too many shoulds. So what to do about that? Accept that I am not, nor will I ever be perfect. I can fuck up and that's okay.

My therapist has been telling me this for, well, almost four fucking years. Yeah. Four fucking YEARS. I'm stubborn. And maybe a bit stupid :P Listen, you dumb bitch! (I call myself "dumb bitch" lovingly).

Then about 3 weeks ago, at not my most recent ECT treatment (3 days ago), but the one before that, Dr. M kinda went off on me. And by "kinda went off" I mean he yelled at me. He told me to relax, calm down, and trust the process. That this wasn't perfect, I wasn't perfect, and that it takes time. And to also "stop cutting my fucking arm". Yes, he cussed. One reason I like him.

So I decided to try just that - relaxing. Giving in. Not being perfect (or trying desperately to be). In order to do this I had to do something big. I had to accept - really, truly accept - that I have a chronic illness that needs to be monitored/maintained daily, every day, and that sometimes I need help.

This is not easy for my stubborn, prideful self, but I'm working on it.

See, monitoring my illness isn't that much different as someone with diabetes monitoring theirs. Whereas they count carbs, watch their diet, check their blood sugar levels and take insulin, I have my own things I need to monitor:

I monitor my mood, sleep, surroundings (is it crowded, noisy, close exits, bright or flashing lights . . .), temperature (too hot = instant bitch), sounds, who is around me . . . and countless other things.

I'm slowly learning to recognize some of my triggers. And in recognizing my triggers I can better manage them, so they don't have as huge (or catastrophic) effect on me. Sometimes this means simply resetting myself. Other times, it means removing myself from a situation (nurses station getting too loud? I get up and leave. Go on a walk, go to the break room, whatever, just get away from the voices). Maybe it means not going out (I skipped a bike ride with my hubby and son because I simply didn't have it in me to go - I had no spoons left that day).

And in doing all of this (along with the ECT working) I'm feeling better. Finally feeling better. But this is hard, y'all. Doing all of this is fucking hard. It's tiring and it takes focus. It is, however, worth it.

I'm hoping that over time I won't have to work so hard, that things will get easier. Right now, I'm calling this a victory. And I finally have hope.

Well, it's Friday

I want to start by saying that I fucking HATE bipolar disorder. I really, really, fucking hate it. Like, a LOT.

I worked on Wednesday and it was a horrible day. It was busy, which was probably good, because it kept me distracted. My mood was awful. I was depressed, tired, full of despair, angry, and a host of other negative feelings. I cut (I have my scalpel in my locker). When I got home I lost it. And I lost it good. It was the ugly cry X10 and I wanted to die. Or, at the very least, I wanted to cut my arm to shreds. Hubs and kiddo had to work overtime pulling me from the brink. It was so bad.

Then yesterday, Thursday, I had a mandatory class for work. Knowing how my mood has been I was dreading it. But I ended up hypomanic. I was inappropriate and obnoxious. I was entertaining. I had fun. It was wonderful! It was glorious! Thank GOD!

After class I had therapy and we started trauma work. It went well. M gave me some ideas on how to manage my overreactive emotions. Yesterday was a good day. Hooray!! A good day!

And then there's today. A day that's really not a good day. Again I want to curl in a ball and not exist. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to be okay. To interact with people. But I'm so fucking angry today. At everything. And I feel exhausted and overwhelmed. And depressed. And like everything is pointless and stupid. I'm trying to counter, trying to stay positive, trying to remain calm and destress . . .

I really hate this. Why can't I just be normal? Why can't I just be okay? Why do I have to fight depression so much? I don't want to feel everything so much.

I'm meeting a friend for coffee which means interaction which will exhaust me more. And I work tomorrow which will mean interaction which may exhaust me more.

Or maybe I'll be hypomanic again, who knows?

That's the thing though - I never know. And that's exhausting.

I have more I want to write I just don't have it in me right now.

I'm Not Sure What to Think

I'm really not.

I'm sitting down to write because I've felt like I've needed to all day (I've been out at the therapeutic riding center all day working with both the kids and horses).But now that I'm sitting to write, I find I'm at a loss of words.

I've been struggling again, I think that's a given. I had ECT yesterday and I thought "oh good. I can talk to Dr. M and figure out something to do about these recurring depressive symptoms." I told the nurses as they did my intake and started my IV and they urged me to talk to Dr. M.

So I did.

And he really didn't tell me what I wanted to hear.

One, it can take up to 6 months to get the full benefits of ECT. Two, I need to go easy on myself, be gentle, and give myself time - it took awhile for me to get this sick, it's going to take awhile for me to get better. Three, I need to learn how to better manage/regulate my moods - it appears I'm getting triggered, having an exaggerated, bipolar mood reaction, and that I'm mismanaging that reaction (hence the episodes of despair or sobbing or cutting or intense anger).

I told him I was going back to a DBT group and he got a huge smile on his face. "Good. That will be good for you." The lead nurse, J, agreed that DBT would be wonderful for me.

So the plan stays: my current meds, ECT every other week, and therapy - both my regular and the DBT group.

Here's what's frustrating though: I'd had a couple of fairly good days and I had ECT and group yesterday. And today, today I'm at the riding center all day. Mucked stalls in the morning, work with the kids in the afternoon, spend time with my fave horse and barn buddy there, Thor (who, strangely, happens to be Dr. M's horse). All day I had to keep fighting off despair. It kept washing over me. Random times, no rhyme or reason. I'd be petting Thor and suddenly all I could think about was how nothing really mattered, everything was pointless, and that I'd eventually end up killing myself because nothing gets better. Ever.

I'd throw everything I could into fighting those thoughts and feelings. I do what I'm supposed to do: remain present, acknowledge the feelings, allow them to pass, replace negative thoughts with positive ones. Everything that I practice, that I've been taught to do . . . I do it. Then I finally resort to distraction. I go find something to do or someone to talk to or I immerse myself in grooming. Whatever I can to stay on top.

Today I had that despair wash over me at least 10 times. Even though I would count this a "pretty good" day, I still had to fight so much to stay on top.

Is this how it's always going to be? Always fighting, always struggling, every day? This is what I worry about. Because I don't want to do this every day. I don't want to fight my own mind every day. I'm worried that at some point I'll be too tired. Because what's the point? Why struggle?

I shouldn't think like that. That's not productive, right? I'm just so frustrated.

Well, I have therapy on Thursday, so we'll see what M has to say about all this.

Stupid

I had a great therapy session yesterday, I really did. Everything that was in my last blog post? We talked about that.

He pointed out that I still haven't completely accepted my diagnosis. I mean, I've accepted it, I truly believe I have bipolar disorder, but I haven't fully accepted everything that that entails. For example, even when I'm stable - reeeeeally stable - I can still have wide, wild mood swings for no reason at all. That's just part of bipolar disorder. That truly, for the rest of my life, I have to be hyper vigilant of my moods. I'll have to always monitor my moods, just like a diabetic monitors their blood sugar. There's no real way around it.

I hate that. Like, I really hate that. I wanted to have ECT and just be . . . okay. Normal. But that's just not the case. And it's super fucking frustrating. I don't want to deal with it anymore. I don't want to deal with bipolar disorder anymore.

Depressive Symptoms Coming Back

Just got back from a week long vacation to California.

We spent a couple days in Orange County visiting my family. We stayed with my Grandma (on my dad's side) and spent time with my aunts and uncle. It's always great seeing them but it was taxing. Interacting with them really took it out of me - more so than I thought it was going to.

Then we headed to San Diego for Comic Con and the zoo. We spend 5 days there, stayed in a little studio apartment. And I didn't handle it as well as I wanted to.

What was going on, you ask?

I've been having some depressive symptoms coming back. Getting overwhelmed easily, turning into a horrid rage monster at the slightest provocation, having intense feelings of despair wash over me for seemingly no reason, wanting/needing to cut, suicidal thoughts. . .

Let me give you some examples:
 
     - We're at comic con, waiting in a line. The line starts to move forward but the person in front of us lags and isn't moving forward right away. My blood boils, fists clench, teeth grind. It takes every ounce of self control not to shove the person and tell them to MOVE THE FUCK FORWARD ALREADY!! ARE YOU THAT FUCKING STUPID??? CAN YOU NOT SEE THAT THE FUCKING LIKE IS MOVING?? FUCKING MOVE!!!!!!!!! I shake, I take deep breaths, I try to think of calming things and then suddenly I feel like crying because everything is too much to handle. Everything is too hard and too overwhelming.

     - We get home yesterday and hubbs and I have sex. And it was good. And we're snuggling after and I get flooded with despair. Life really has no meaning. I spend every day fighting my distorted thoughts and fighting my feelings and it's not worth it. It's not going to get better. I need to cut. I need to feel a blade slicing through my skin. That's easier than dealing with this. I start to tear up, start to cry, and I know I'm going to lose my shit and I DO NOT want to lose my shit because if I do I won't be able to stop the tears and I KNOW I'll end up cutting. So I talk to hubbs and somehow - don't ask me how - I manage to not lose my shit. I push on and we go shopping and have dinner and watch some tv, but the whole time I'm still struggling with feelings of despair.

     - Today I had ECT (would have normally had it on Monday but was in California). I would prefer to have ECT on Mondays because I know my mom can pick me up and I have Mondays off. So I told the nurse that I would need to have ECT next Monday, not Wednesday. I'm waking up, getting my shoes on and whatnot and she hands me my discharge paper which has my next appointment on it. Which is for a week from Monday (meaning a week and a half between sessions). I guess my expression gave away what I was feeling because she asked what was wrong. I told her I didn't feel comfortable waiting that long (but Dr. M doesn't want me in earlier than a week). It felt like my world was crashing down around me. Like I couldn't possibly cope, I can't possibly handle this. I'm already struggling and now I have to wait a week and a half. I nearly broke down sobbing.

Scenarios like those? They happen a lot. A lot. Several times a day, every day. For the most, part I can keep them under wraps, these stupid fucking mood swings (and by under wraps I mean I haven't attacked anyone, screamed at anyone, curled myself into a little ball and rocked myself while mumbling, break down sobbing uncontrollably, or cut myself). But I come close. Scarily close. And even though I don't "officially" lose my shit, I'm still dealing with these feelings. I'm still struggling to manage them.

I keep reminding myself that I'm doing way better than before I started ECT. Way better (considering I was planning on killing myself if I wasn't approved for it or if it didn't help - scary, but true). I spend more time feeling "okay" than I do feeling like shit - and that's good. (Though I wish I spent more time feeling happy).

And again - take things a day at a time, a moment at a time. I also think I need to lower my expectations. It's just so frustrating.