I'm feeling awfully lost right now.
I had to take a break after typing that first sentence to cry. I'm so fucking empty and I feel like my pain is consuming me. It's overwhelming me. I don't feel like I'm in control right now. If I had something I could take right now . . . like my lithium . . . I would. Not enough to kill me - I don't think - but enough to make me out of it for a few days. I don't want to deal with how I'm feeling anymore. I'm trying. I'm trying everything. Fuck - I even went to karate tonight!
I want to write, but I don't know what to write. I worked today, from 7-1, it was my call shift. I was on the L&D side caring for post partum patients. The two patients I had were wonderful. Sweet, appreciative, and just nice people. I had good coworkers working. And still I was lost and empty. Still I struggled. Still I felt like breaking down. I came home at 1:30 to my son and we had lunch together. Then I went to lay down for a bit - nap - and escape my thoughts. Then came karate and then I made dinner.
And now crying. Oh, and I cut myself too. Three weeks without a cut and I fucking cut myself tonight. It was either that or put my fists through the wall. Which I still want to do.
I'm so frustrated. If I could just have more good days than bad. Is that too much to fucking ask? Just more good than bad? Apparently it is, considering how it doesn't happen.
I see Dr. M on Tuesday and I'm very curious to hear what he'll have to say about all of this. I'm worried he'll do nothing. Or say there's nothing he can do. Because truth is, I can't keep going on like this. I can't. It's too hard.
But you know what? Tomorrow is a new day, right? It'll be better. It has to be better. I'm going to bed.
Thursday, June 30, 2016
Tuesday, June 28, 2016
Day 59
I'm sitting on my bed in my bedroom, headphones in, listening to Guster to drown out the sounds of Shark Week emanating from the living room (my son is watching Shark Week and is all excited about it). I'm depressed - but what's new? Aren't I always fucking depressed? It definitely seems that way.
But no, as it turns out, I had a few days over the weekend where I was hypomanic. I worked on Saturday (I'm an RN, remember) and I did something rather embarrassing: at lunchtime there were 6 or 7 of us in the break room. I proceeded to try and convince everyone to eat my ashes after I'm cremated when I die. I was going on and on. Everyone was laughing but looking a little uncomfortable. So I told them they could eat my corpse instead if that was better.
Uhhhhh, no.
Luckily I kept myself under control around my patients. I was only weird with coworkers.
Anyway, today I had therapy and I had to convince M that I didn't need to go to the hospital because of my suicidal thoughts. We revamped my safety plan, but I think he was feeling quite leery. He told me he'd beat me up if I killed myself. Buddy, you ain't the only one!
I'm not sure what the hospital would do for me other than keep me safe. So if I can keep myself safe at home, well . . .
And I am keeping myself safe. If I can get past the crisis point then I'm okay, I'll be okay, I'll live another day. And that's what I've been doing, day in, day out.
It's fucking tiring. And at times seems pointless.
Let's be honest, the only reason I'm still around is my hubby and son. If not for them . . .
But no, as it turns out, I had a few days over the weekend where I was hypomanic. I worked on Saturday (I'm an RN, remember) and I did something rather embarrassing: at lunchtime there were 6 or 7 of us in the break room. I proceeded to try and convince everyone to eat my ashes after I'm cremated when I die. I was going on and on. Everyone was laughing but looking a little uncomfortable. So I told them they could eat my corpse instead if that was better.
Uhhhhh, no.
Luckily I kept myself under control around my patients. I was only weird with coworkers.
Anyway, today I had therapy and I had to convince M that I didn't need to go to the hospital because of my suicidal thoughts. We revamped my safety plan, but I think he was feeling quite leery. He told me he'd beat me up if I killed myself. Buddy, you ain't the only one!
I'm not sure what the hospital would do for me other than keep me safe. So if I can keep myself safe at home, well . . .
And I am keeping myself safe. If I can get past the crisis point then I'm okay, I'll be okay, I'll live another day. And that's what I've been doing, day in, day out.
It's fucking tiring. And at times seems pointless.
Let's be honest, the only reason I'm still around is my hubby and son. If not for them . . .
Tuesday, June 21, 2016
Day 52
Here I sit, down, withdrawn, angry, and confused. Yes, confused. I had therapy yesterday - finally - and I left emotionally drained and confused. The talk centered around my suicidal ideation and, lets be honest, I never realized how exhausting talking about suicide can be.
I should throw in a quick bit of background info: I talked to my psychiatrist last week before ECT about my suicidal ideation and he told me something that I really didn't want to hear. "Lynn, you're stable. You are considered stable. You're still going to cycle when you're stable and sometimes these cycles can be severe. The key to stability is that the cycles are shorter - maybe 2-3 days instead of 2-3 weeks or months." How horrible is that? He's basically telling me, hey, I know you're suicidal but it'll pass in a few days so just suck it up and deal with it. He doesn't like to do med changes outside of his office (I don't see him in office until July 5th) so he said he'd see me again in a couple weeks for ECT, in 3 in office, so we'd just see how I do and that would better dictate our next course of action.
Okay.
I've sat with that for a week now and it's still a tough pill to swallow. I told my therapist as much yesterday and he agreed with me . . . but also with my psychiatrist. Although he thinks we can do a better job managing it and that we should be able to get the suicidality under control.
The joys of being treatment resistant.
My therapist tried to come up with ideas of things I could do do help manage my moods, things I'm not already doing. I tried helping. We didn't come up with many because I'm already doing so much. So I need to continue doing what I'm doing and not allow myself to falter.
One thing I need to do is work on accepting this as my lot in life. I mean truly accepting the chronicity and severity of my bipolar disorder. Truly accepting that I may wake up any given morning desperately wanting to die, so depressed and miserable that I can't even pull myself out of bed to shower . . . only to wake up the next morning hypomanic, giddy with racing thoughts, having to watch everything I say, knowing that I can fly into a rage at the drop of a hat. And still have that be considered stable as long as I have a day or two with more mild symptoms.
My problem with this, besides the obvious, is that I like control in my life. I like stability. So I need something to control. I'm going to try and be healthy with this and work on my diet. Eating healthier and more natural. Working out more regularly. Maybe that will help. Hopefully that will help.
I have ECT and therapy next week, my in office appointment the next . . . we'll see how things go. A day at a time is all I can do.
I should throw in a quick bit of background info: I talked to my psychiatrist last week before ECT about my suicidal ideation and he told me something that I really didn't want to hear. "Lynn, you're stable. You are considered stable. You're still going to cycle when you're stable and sometimes these cycles can be severe. The key to stability is that the cycles are shorter - maybe 2-3 days instead of 2-3 weeks or months." How horrible is that? He's basically telling me, hey, I know you're suicidal but it'll pass in a few days so just suck it up and deal with it. He doesn't like to do med changes outside of his office (I don't see him in office until July 5th) so he said he'd see me again in a couple weeks for ECT, in 3 in office, so we'd just see how I do and that would better dictate our next course of action.
Okay.
I've sat with that for a week now and it's still a tough pill to swallow. I told my therapist as much yesterday and he agreed with me . . . but also with my psychiatrist. Although he thinks we can do a better job managing it and that we should be able to get the suicidality under control.
The joys of being treatment resistant.
My therapist tried to come up with ideas of things I could do do help manage my moods, things I'm not already doing. I tried helping. We didn't come up with many because I'm already doing so much. So I need to continue doing what I'm doing and not allow myself to falter.
One thing I need to do is work on accepting this as my lot in life. I mean truly accepting the chronicity and severity of my bipolar disorder. Truly accepting that I may wake up any given morning desperately wanting to die, so depressed and miserable that I can't even pull myself out of bed to shower . . . only to wake up the next morning hypomanic, giddy with racing thoughts, having to watch everything I say, knowing that I can fly into a rage at the drop of a hat. And still have that be considered stable as long as I have a day or two with more mild symptoms.
My problem with this, besides the obvious, is that I like control in my life. I like stability. So I need something to control. I'm going to try and be healthy with this and work on my diet. Eating healthier and more natural. Working out more regularly. Maybe that will help. Hopefully that will help.
I have ECT and therapy next week, my in office appointment the next . . . we'll see how things go. A day at a time is all I can do.
Thursday, June 9, 2016
Day 41
I'm trapped in the darkness . . . lost in the shadows . . . I can see the light - I think - I just can't get to it. Instead, I'm left feeling my way, stumbling around blindly, hoping, praying, for a way out. The darkness is all consuming though, and even though I'm doing everything right, it has a strangle hold on me. And that little pin prick of light I see . . . it falters.
In case you haven't guessed it, I would appear to be in full blown depression again. It's been coming, slowly, over the past few weeks, and now its here, pressing, smothering, and all consuming. And it's not just that I feel "sad" or "down". Oh no. I feel as though life is no longer worth living. I want to kill myself and I have a plan. I feel hopeless and worthless and lost and empty and like I'm a burden on everyone around me. I don't feel joy or happiness - I try, I really fucking try - but I just . . . don't.
The frustrating part is that Im doing everything I should be doing. I take my meds, I go to therapy, I go to ECT, I still go to work, go to karate, interact with my friends, I don't isolate (even though I desperately want to), and I do everything CBT and DBT that I know how to do. I don't know what more to do. I feel like a failure. I feel like I'm letting people down, docs included (and then I counter those negative thoughts with things like, but you're not a failure, look how far you've come, you're strong and stubborn and you can do this!). And I don't see any trigger to this current depression. Nothing.
It's exhausting being me right now. My mind is a whirlwind of negative thoughts, a third to half of them suicidal. I feel as though I'm drowning in my thoughts, caught just below the surface, scrambling desperately to get my head above water but never quite making it. I try to ignore the thoughts, push them away. Or I acknowledge them, counter them, and move on. Or I discount them. Or, or, or . . . I'm in a constant argument with my own mind and that is fucking exhausting. You never know, until you have to do it yourself. Something good may happen - let's say my son makes me laugh - and I think yay! Something good! Oh really? my mind counters. You realize this won't last, don't you? You're still depressed. Your life still isn't worth living. You're always going to be like this. I stare off into space a minute, my mood dropping from my little break, as I scramble to counter what just flew threw my head. That's not true, I tell it. My husband and son make my life worth living. My friends, my job, my family . . . hell, my damn dog makes my life worth living. I think of good times, picture them in my head. Sometimes I write a gratitude list. Yeah. You keep telling yourself that.
I tell myself that it's just the depression talking, just the bipolar. That's not me. That's not how I am. And it's not. When I'm stable, when I'm not depressed, I don't have thoughts like that. I don't really even think about being bipolar. I feel so fucking different when I'm not depressed. That's how I know it's just the depression . . . but knowing that and telling myself that doesn't make it any easier to counter the negative thoughts, because, honestly, they're so fucking convincing.
One thing that scares me . . . I had a psychiatric PA I was seeing (before my current doc) tell me, "You're just going to be depressed and suicidal for the rest of your life and you need to learn how to deal with it." Number one, what the actual fuck, and number two, what the actual fuck?! That's not something you tell you're depressed, suicidal patient. But then, it makes me think: we can't seem to get my depression under control. If we do, it's for a very short period before it comes back. So what if there's some truth to that? But see, I can't think about it because that leads to a cascade of negative, suicidal thoughts. But it scares the ever living shit out of me. Because fuck man, what if that's true?
I don't ever bring that up in therapy or to my current doc because I'm worried they'll agree with it. I'm also worried that I've failed them, let them down, because I can't seem to fucking stay stable. I'm worried that they'll drop me as a patient, wash their hands of me, because I can't stay well.
I think I'm still struggling with what it truly means for me to be bipolar. I mean, maybe I get 12 days stable, then 20 or so with some mild depression and anger, and then I get the complete shit show for 2 or 3 weeks before going back to relatively stable. Maybe that's how bipolar works for me. Maybe a long period of stability just isn't in the cards for me. Which fuck, wouldn't that suck? Because when I'm low, I'm fucking low. I mean, I'm suicidal, I'm cutting, I'm withdrawn, I don't want to do things (though I force myself to), I'm no fun to be around, I'm a raging bitch . . . It's no way to live.
But that's negative thinking. Counter that shit.
Butterflies and sparrows and little bunnies . . .
In case you haven't guessed it, I would appear to be in full blown depression again. It's been coming, slowly, over the past few weeks, and now its here, pressing, smothering, and all consuming. And it's not just that I feel "sad" or "down". Oh no. I feel as though life is no longer worth living. I want to kill myself and I have a plan. I feel hopeless and worthless and lost and empty and like I'm a burden on everyone around me. I don't feel joy or happiness - I try, I really fucking try - but I just . . . don't.
The frustrating part is that Im doing everything I should be doing. I take my meds, I go to therapy, I go to ECT, I still go to work, go to karate, interact with my friends, I don't isolate (even though I desperately want to), and I do everything CBT and DBT that I know how to do. I don't know what more to do. I feel like a failure. I feel like I'm letting people down, docs included (and then I counter those negative thoughts with things like, but you're not a failure, look how far you've come, you're strong and stubborn and you can do this!). And I don't see any trigger to this current depression. Nothing.
It's exhausting being me right now. My mind is a whirlwind of negative thoughts, a third to half of them suicidal. I feel as though I'm drowning in my thoughts, caught just below the surface, scrambling desperately to get my head above water but never quite making it. I try to ignore the thoughts, push them away. Or I acknowledge them, counter them, and move on. Or I discount them. Or, or, or . . . I'm in a constant argument with my own mind and that is fucking exhausting. You never know, until you have to do it yourself. Something good may happen - let's say my son makes me laugh - and I think yay! Something good! Oh really? my mind counters. You realize this won't last, don't you? You're still depressed. Your life still isn't worth living. You're always going to be like this. I stare off into space a minute, my mood dropping from my little break, as I scramble to counter what just flew threw my head. That's not true, I tell it. My husband and son make my life worth living. My friends, my job, my family . . . hell, my damn dog makes my life worth living. I think of good times, picture them in my head. Sometimes I write a gratitude list. Yeah. You keep telling yourself that.
I tell myself that it's just the depression talking, just the bipolar. That's not me. That's not how I am. And it's not. When I'm stable, when I'm not depressed, I don't have thoughts like that. I don't really even think about being bipolar. I feel so fucking different when I'm not depressed. That's how I know it's just the depression . . . but knowing that and telling myself that doesn't make it any easier to counter the negative thoughts, because, honestly, they're so fucking convincing.
One thing that scares me . . . I had a psychiatric PA I was seeing (before my current doc) tell me, "You're just going to be depressed and suicidal for the rest of your life and you need to learn how to deal with it." Number one, what the actual fuck, and number two, what the actual fuck?! That's not something you tell you're depressed, suicidal patient. But then, it makes me think: we can't seem to get my depression under control. If we do, it's for a very short period before it comes back. So what if there's some truth to that? But see, I can't think about it because that leads to a cascade of negative, suicidal thoughts. But it scares the ever living shit out of me. Because fuck man, what if that's true?
I don't ever bring that up in therapy or to my current doc because I'm worried they'll agree with it. I'm also worried that I've failed them, let them down, because I can't seem to fucking stay stable. I'm worried that they'll drop me as a patient, wash their hands of me, because I can't stay well.
I think I'm still struggling with what it truly means for me to be bipolar. I mean, maybe I get 12 days stable, then 20 or so with some mild depression and anger, and then I get the complete shit show for 2 or 3 weeks before going back to relatively stable. Maybe that's how bipolar works for me. Maybe a long period of stability just isn't in the cards for me. Which fuck, wouldn't that suck? Because when I'm low, I'm fucking low. I mean, I'm suicidal, I'm cutting, I'm withdrawn, I don't want to do things (though I force myself to), I'm no fun to be around, I'm a raging bitch . . . It's no way to live.
But that's negative thinking. Counter that shit.
Butterflies and sparrows and little bunnies . . .
Sunday, June 5, 2016
Day 37
Well. Today is day 37 "stable". "Stable". What a joke. I hate my version of "stable". Where I still struggle. Where I still have thoughts of suicide . . .
. . . which I did this morning. I was thinking about slitting my wrists, since I don't have access to any of my meds (hubby keeps them locked up). Rather than act on it I immediately told hubby what I was thinking and we talked about it.
I still want to cut though. God damn I want to cut.
Today, yesterday, and Friday have all been very difficult. They have been very rough. My mood has been, well, bad. And not just bad - I've been depressed, I've been irrationally angry, I've been lost. It is, quite frankly, not fucking fair.
On Friday I worked and I was irrationally angry (and then, of course, we were crazy busy to boot). I was doing a lot of counting in my head so that I wouldn't say something inappropriate (although several times I slipped and I did). At one point a pulse ox wasn't working right so I threw it on the ground and stomped on it while cussing loudly. I was snippy and rude to most everyone and I didn't enjoy any aspect of my job (delivering babies, in case you forgot).
On Saturday I woke up and knew it was going to be a bad day. I cried in the morning and wanted to give up right then and there. But I'm stubborn, you know, so I worked out and then hubby and I took our son to the penny arcade and out to eat. But I was snippy and quick to anger and overall just a big 'ol bitch. But I made it through the day.
Today has been more of the same. And I'm done with it. I'm really just so. Fucking. Tired of it all.
There's my rant for the day. Fuck I want to cut.
. . . which I did this morning. I was thinking about slitting my wrists, since I don't have access to any of my meds (hubby keeps them locked up). Rather than act on it I immediately told hubby what I was thinking and we talked about it.
I still want to cut though. God damn I want to cut.
Today, yesterday, and Friday have all been very difficult. They have been very rough. My mood has been, well, bad. And not just bad - I've been depressed, I've been irrationally angry, I've been lost. It is, quite frankly, not fucking fair.
On Friday I worked and I was irrationally angry (and then, of course, we were crazy busy to boot). I was doing a lot of counting in my head so that I wouldn't say something inappropriate (although several times I slipped and I did). At one point a pulse ox wasn't working right so I threw it on the ground and stomped on it while cussing loudly. I was snippy and rude to most everyone and I didn't enjoy any aspect of my job (delivering babies, in case you forgot).
On Saturday I woke up and knew it was going to be a bad day. I cried in the morning and wanted to give up right then and there. But I'm stubborn, you know, so I worked out and then hubby and I took our son to the penny arcade and out to eat. But I was snippy and quick to anger and overall just a big 'ol bitch. But I made it through the day.
Today has been more of the same. And I'm done with it. I'm really just so. Fucking. Tired of it all.
There's my rant for the day. Fuck I want to cut.
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