In a bad way

I'm in a bad way again. A very bad way.

Every day is a struggle. I don't want to exist. It's too hard. Everything is too hard. Being awake is too hard.

I wake up every morning not knowing how I'll make it through the day. Not knowing how I can possibly do it again. I tell myself over and over again that it's worth it. Living. That living, pushing on, existing, is worth it.

I often don't believe it. I mostly don't believe it.

But I tell myself that. That it's worth it. I have my son and my hubby and friends and family and my dog and my job and all that shit and that's why it's worth it.

I tell myself that all the time. Because I have to remember. Because otherwise . . .

. . . otherwise I might forget.

I take naps. Naps to escape my mind. Naps to escape my feelings. Every day, every night, I look forward to bedtime. An escape . . . but I dread it, too. Because I know I'll have to wake up in the morning. Wake up and do it again. Struggle again. Push again.

I don't want to. Sometimes . . . I'd rather forget.

I'm tired. I'm trying, but I'm tired.

Fucking Clancy . . .

My depression, truly, is back full force. It's exceedingly frustrating. I've been crying so much again lately. I don't want to exist, and yesterday I didn't want to live. I've considered myself doing a little better than in the past in that I'm not having suicidal ideation.

Except yesterday I did.

It wasn't a planning-it-out kind of ideation. More the recurring thought about how I don't want to live. About  how I can't continue to live if I keep feeling like this. How is anyone supposed to?

So I do all my CBT and DBT tricks to counter these thoughts, try to counter my emotions/feelings, and stay positive/interact/etc. And these things help, they do. I'm certain that they're what's keeping me from being actively suicidal.

I'm just so tired of all of this. And it appears I'm on the fast track now for ECT. I know I'll be having that talk next week . . .

Ugh.

Been awhile since I last wrote. I don't know how long. I don't really care, either. I really don't fucking care about much right now.

Why?

Fucking depression. It won't. Fucking. Leave.

I was started on Lexapro, 10mg. Then we increased it 20mg. Then we increased my Lamictal from 200mg to 400mg. And you know what? Fucking nothing.

Nope. Depression is hanging on, gaining strength, trying to overtake me completely. I've cried so much today it's stupid. It's pathetic. It's tiring and I'm so fucking done with this.

Hubby tells me to hang in there. This will get better. We'll get you better.

Really? Because the depression is fucking here. It doesn't go away. From where I stand, it's not getting better.

Everything is overwhelming. Interacting with people is overwhelming. Going to the store is overwhelming. Packing is overwhelming. Everything is fucking overwhelming.

I put on my happy face. I try to "fake it till I make it". I do all of my positive CBT stuff I've learned. But I'm dying on the inside. I'm shattered and broken and I'm trying so hard to hide it.

I'm fucking tired and I'm sick of it.

It's been over a month . . .

. . . since I've posted. No real reason, other than I haven't felt like writing.

And now, right now, I have things I need to write, things I need to get out, and I don't feel like I can. I feel like I have all this crap built up and jumbled up inside me and it's not going to come out.

I was supposed to have therapy this Thursday 0 it's been 3 weeks since my last session (we're slowly spacing out appointments). M called me this morning to reschedule as he had a death in the family. Now it's another 2 weeks before I see him.

I have shit to talk about!

But now it will have to wait.

Despite being on the Lexapro, my depression is creeping back in. Despite my best efforts, it's creeping back in. See, I think my default is depression. I think it's my natural state - to be mildly depressed all the time. I seem to always have this melancholy air about me (unless I'm manic). I'm trying to change that. To actively change that.

How?

By forcing myself to be happy. By forcing interaction with people. For example, instead of ignoring people at work or hiding out to be alone, I'm actively seeking and initiating conversations. I'm forcing myself to sound upbeat and happy. I'm telling myself constantly that I'm having a good day, I feel good, I'm happy, isn't this wonderful? You can actually talk and joke and interact, etc . . . I'm obnoxious in the morning telling myself that I'll have a good day.

Fake it till you make it.

I'm hoping that holds true. That all this faking will eventually change my mindset from depressed to happy. Or at least okay.

And it's actually pretty exhausting. And I get overwhelmed in social settings or with too much stimulus. Which is stupid and frustrating.

The depression is still there, though. And it's been building strength. It's no where where it used to be. Definitely not. I'm not sobbing every day (although I have had several days where I did sob over the last month). I'm not having suicidal ideation - though I've had numerous days/times where I don't want to exist. Or I want to just sleep to escape. Or I have no idea how I can possibly make it through the day.

But I'm not nearly as bad as I was before the Lexapro, so I think it is helping. And I'm guessing that next week when I see Dr. M I'll go up to 20mg. And I'll keep plugging along with my cognitive stuff.

I have other stuff to write about, but I can't right now. Not up for it. I don't have my thoughts together. I'm going to spend the day painting horses.

Because horses.

Wrapped in Grey

I've been trying to come up with an accurate description of how I'm feeling. Or have felt. Or whatever. In the past, I've written about how it feels when I'm in the throes of depression - the agonizing, sobbing, everything is pointless, suicidal depression. And in the past, I know I've done a pretty good job of that.

But this depression is different.

This is not that agonizing, suicidal depression. No, I'm in the I-don't-feel-anything-and-life-is-pointless-and-meaningless type of depression. Which is bad in its own way. It's just different.

But how do I describe it? How do I make real this nothingness I'm feeling. This anhedonia.

I believe that everyone sees in color. They see the vibrant color of life. The beautiful 3 dimensional trueness of everything around them. The colors and substance have meaning and weight and permanence. There is passion behind those colors. There are feelings behind and associated with those colors. The colors truly have meaning.

Whereas I see everything as grey. Shades of grey (and I'm not talking about that popular book . . .). Everything is dull and grimy and flat - 2 dimensional. There is no passion. There is no meaning. Nothing carries any weight because everything is the same. There are no feelings behind the greyness. It just is. This leaves me feeling like an outsider. Life is going on around me - flourishing - and I'm on the sidelines, unable to participate, because I can't see the colors. I'm a spectator and nothing more. Sure, I go through the motions and put on the mask. I pretend I can see the colors because that is what's expected. But it's just that grey . . .

Every once in awhile, the grey recedes a little and some colors snake through around the edges. Every once in awhile those colors manage to cloud over the grey and I can see. I can actually see. The meaning breaks through. The passion and purpose breaks through and I can actively participate in life.

But the grey always wins out. It rushes back in, stamping out the color and asserting itself once more. I'm left with the memory that life should mean something . . . but I can no longer feel it.

My breakthroughs don't last all that long. 5-10 minutes? Maybe, if I'm lucky, an hour. I may have no breakthroughs on a particular day. Sometimes I'll have several.

But I'm always left seeing the grey.

Update

On Tuesday I saw my new pdoc, Dr. M. First impression: nice, personable, and no nonsense. He read through all of the info I brought him (my med history, illness history, hospitalizations, etc) and asked him why I had come to him.

Well, because the NP I was seeing told me she wasn't going to prescribe anything new, that meds won't help me, and that I'll be depressed and suicidal for the rest of my life and that I need to get used to it. Oh - and have you considered ECT?

His response? "Looking at your med history I can see why she would say that. She could have done so a little more tactfully . . . I think she's stumped. Have you considered ECT?"

"Um, no. It's probably not a good idea because of the short term memory loss, with me being a nurse and all."

He then went on to discuss ECT with me a little more in depth. He's been doing it for 20 years and has seen remarkable results with it. The vast majority of his patients have little to no issues with memory. The talk put me a little more at ease.

But I still really don't want ECT.

One thing he was willing to try was to start me on Lexapro (an antidepressant). Before I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder I had been on Lexapro for depression. Any time we increased the dose, I would get hypomanic for a couple of weeks. The hypomania would slowly wear off and then I would be okay for awhile. But then the depression would creep back in. Dr. M is hoping that since the Lexapro made me hypomanic in the past, that it will lift the depression now.

And that's it. That's all he's willing to try. If the Lexapro doesn't help and I'm still having issues with depression, my next step is ECT. Because I'm doing all the other stuff (CBT, trauma work, DBT, Al-Anon . . .). There's not much left.

Fingers crossed that the Lexapro helps.

How I'm Feeling

I'm back at that place of no feelings. Nothing. Flat. I try, but I fail. I keep feeling like I need to cry but I can't. I just . . . can't. There's not enough emotion behind it. There's just nothing.

And that's frustrating.

Honestly, this is just as bad as the raw depressive, suicidal, tidal wave of emotion. It's just bad in a different way.

Have I posted this before?

I might have. I'm not sure. 

But this. Seriously. This is so accurate to how I'm feeling. 

I keep thinking, well, I'm not cycling madly, so am I stable? Is this what stability looks like? This . . . nothing? If this is how I am stable I don't like it. I want to feel things. Other than irritability (I can still feel that). 

Maybe I'm expecting too much. Maybe expecting to have some semblance of "normal" feelings is asking too much. Maybe that's just not in the cards for me.

I hate this. I hate it so much. It's stupid and it's not fair. Existing and living are not the same. All I'm doing is existing right now. At least when I'm an emotional whirlwind there's some sense of living . . . Not now. Not at all. 

Fuck. Everything.