Well, I survived Christmas. Isn't that nice? Sure it is. It's nice.
I survived, but I'm not doing great. No, sadly, I'm still empty and tired and drained and fake and close to tears more often than I'd like. It's really frustrating. I'm tired of it, so fucking tired of it, but I think this is truly my baseline. I think this is as good as it gets. I think I'm either this, or I'm worse. And seriously, that sucks.
I worked yesterday and it was ridiculously busy. We did 6 c-sections and 3 vaginal deliveries (normally we do 2 c-sections in a day). I was running around like crazy (for those of you who don't remember, I'm a nursery nurse at a busy birth center - so I attend all of the deliveries). It was physically tiring, yes, but more than that it was mentally exhausting. All I wanted to do was curl up in a ball somewhere and not exist. It was like I couldn't cope. My facade of being okay started crumbling. I was struggling. I started binging on cookies and caramel popcorn (I'm an emotional eater and there was junk food everywhere). When I got home I had nothing left for my hubby or son. I was done. I wasn't very interactive. I went to bed.
And then I didn't sleep well because I was mulling over and over about how I wasn't very interactive with my family. Guilt. Beating myself up. Self hatred. All stuff I'm very good at. Too good at. So I lost quite a bit of sleep.
Today is a low day for me. Today I'm disgusted with myself. For my binging yesterday, for coming unraveled and not coping, for not giving my family the attention they deserve. I've been beating myself up today, contributing to my low feelings. Making them worse. I should be packing. We move in a week. And I did pack, a little. But I couldn't focus. I couldn't concentrate. My mind is a mess. So I packed 3 boxes and had to call it quits. Which makes me feel bad that I didn't do more. Making me feel worse. It's a downward spiral.
Maybe if the next 2-3 weeks were over. Maybe if we were moved and unpacked and settled and I was getting into a routine. Maybe then things would be okay. Maybe then I would feel better. Probably not, but maybe.
Hang on, hang on
When all is shattered, when all your hope is gone
Who knows
How long
But there's a twilight, a nighttime, and a dawn
We break, we bend
With hand, in hand
When hope is gone
Just hang on, hang on
-Guster
These lyrics are helping me get through. This song. Hang On . Because that's what I have to do . Hang on. I really have no other choice.
Thursday, December 27, 2018
Monday, December 24, 2018
12/24/18
Wow. It's been awhile since I've written anything. Two weeks. And it's Christmas eve. Although it doesn't feel like Christmas at all. No, it just feels like any other day. Can't say I've gotten into the Christmas spirit this year. I pretty much blame my depression for that.
I had a therapy appointment last week. Ended up crying in therapy and then crying myself to sleep that night. Always so much fun.
I've been about the same as I was in my last blog post. Hovering just below the surface, unable to really feel much of anything except negative emotions here and there. There is a change though, I have been able to feel some positive emotions. They're not strong, and they're not long lived, but they have been there. I'm so thankful for that. Because I'm truly drowning here.
Now today, today I have been weird. I keep fluctuating between being mostly okay to being an anxious ball of worry. Why? Well, for one, it's Christmas eve which means church. I'm going to throw out there that I hate church. I feel like such an outcast there. I get nothing from the sermons. And all of the sit-stand-kneel, sit-stand-kneel is annoying as hell. My hubby goes every Sunday (he's Catholic, I'm . . . nothing) and he takes our son. I'm kind of the black sheep I guess. But I go with him Christmas eve if I'm not working. And I don't like it. And there's so many people and I don't do well with crowds. But I go. I just most certainly don't look forward to it. Quite the opposite - I dread it.
Here's the other thing. Hubby is in a men's group at the church and one of the guys invited us over to dinner tonight. And we're going. Why is this a problem? I won't know anyone there. For an introvert this is a nightmare. The longer I deal with this depression the more introverted I become - even around people I know. I'm quiet, I fade into the background. And let's be honest - I think I've forgotten how to have fun. I don't know what to talk about. I don't remember hardly any good stories about my work and the other main topic of my life is my bipolar disorder (which I don't really want to talk about with strangers). I don't know how to make conversations. I don't know how to engage people. I've bought 3 books on the subject but haven't even made it through one yet.
So I'm anxious. Anxious about church, anxious about this dinner party. And I feel overall down. I wish I didn't have to deal with this. With the anxiety, the depression, the bipolar, with myself.
I hope to god there will be alcohol there tonight.
I had a therapy appointment last week. Ended up crying in therapy and then crying myself to sleep that night. Always so much fun.
I've been about the same as I was in my last blog post. Hovering just below the surface, unable to really feel much of anything except negative emotions here and there. There is a change though, I have been able to feel some positive emotions. They're not strong, and they're not long lived, but they have been there. I'm so thankful for that. Because I'm truly drowning here.
Now today, today I have been weird. I keep fluctuating between being mostly okay to being an anxious ball of worry. Why? Well, for one, it's Christmas eve which means church. I'm going to throw out there that I hate church. I feel like such an outcast there. I get nothing from the sermons. And all of the sit-stand-kneel, sit-stand-kneel is annoying as hell. My hubby goes every Sunday (he's Catholic, I'm . . . nothing) and he takes our son. I'm kind of the black sheep I guess. But I go with him Christmas eve if I'm not working. And I don't like it. And there's so many people and I don't do well with crowds. But I go. I just most certainly don't look forward to it. Quite the opposite - I dread it.
Here's the other thing. Hubby is in a men's group at the church and one of the guys invited us over to dinner tonight. And we're going. Why is this a problem? I won't know anyone there. For an introvert this is a nightmare. The longer I deal with this depression the more introverted I become - even around people I know. I'm quiet, I fade into the background. And let's be honest - I think I've forgotten how to have fun. I don't know what to talk about. I don't remember hardly any good stories about my work and the other main topic of my life is my bipolar disorder (which I don't really want to talk about with strangers). I don't know how to make conversations. I don't know how to engage people. I've bought 3 books on the subject but haven't even made it through one yet.
So I'm anxious. Anxious about church, anxious about this dinner party. And I feel overall down. I wish I didn't have to deal with this. With the anxiety, the depression, the bipolar, with myself.
I hope to god there will be alcohol there tonight.
Monday, December 10, 2018
12/10/18
This post may not make much sense. I don't know. I just got home from seeing my psychiatrist and I have a whopping headache, right above my left eye. I can't concentrate.
Let's talk about my appointment with my psychiatrist Dr. M. I like Dr. M. I trust him. I think he does a good job. But sometimes I don't think he really hears me. Like today. He told me that he thinks I'm doing better than I have been in a long time. That I'm not having extreme ups and downs. I still may be cycling, but I'm stable. I'm stable.
Which, you know what, that's true I guess. I'm not having extreme ups and downs. I'm manageable right now. But I am still cycling, mostly with depression. I'm swimming just below the surface, trying desperately to break through to gasp for air. But it's not happening. The surface is frozen solid and I'm trapped below, slowly losing my steam.
To most people I seem fine. I seem normal. Maybe even like my old self, albeit a little quiet. This is because I'm pretending. I'm putting up a facade that everything is okay. People expect it to be. So they look past the quietness, they look past the blank stares and the vacant look in my eyes. My hubby can tell, as can my close friends. But most people can't.
Most days I'm empty and emotionless. Numb. A husk of who I should be. I have a flat affect and I have to pretend to have feelings to fit in. I even pretend around my hubby because I don't want him to have to deal with me like that day in and day out. Sometimes, I'll even have real feelings. Sadly though, they're not good ones. They're hopelessness, despair, dread, sadness, guilt, and shame. All the feelings of "real" depression.
I explained this to Dr. M and he kind of dismissed it. He said that yes, I'm cycling, but to hang in there and it would get better. Hang in there and it will get better?? I've been in this current down cycle for 4 freaking months! When? When is it going to get better? Of course he can't answer that question. I asked about uppers and he said no. He was worried that 1. they could make me manic, and 2. they could make my depression worse.
Great.
Flailing desperately below the surface appears to be as good as it gets for me.
It'a a damn good thing I'm stubborn.
Let's talk about my appointment with my psychiatrist Dr. M. I like Dr. M. I trust him. I think he does a good job. But sometimes I don't think he really hears me. Like today. He told me that he thinks I'm doing better than I have been in a long time. That I'm not having extreme ups and downs. I still may be cycling, but I'm stable. I'm stable.
Which, you know what, that's true I guess. I'm not having extreme ups and downs. I'm manageable right now. But I am still cycling, mostly with depression. I'm swimming just below the surface, trying desperately to break through to gasp for air. But it's not happening. The surface is frozen solid and I'm trapped below, slowly losing my steam.
To most people I seem fine. I seem normal. Maybe even like my old self, albeit a little quiet. This is because I'm pretending. I'm putting up a facade that everything is okay. People expect it to be. So they look past the quietness, they look past the blank stares and the vacant look in my eyes. My hubby can tell, as can my close friends. But most people can't.
Most days I'm empty and emotionless. Numb. A husk of who I should be. I have a flat affect and I have to pretend to have feelings to fit in. I even pretend around my hubby because I don't want him to have to deal with me like that day in and day out. Sometimes, I'll even have real feelings. Sadly though, they're not good ones. They're hopelessness, despair, dread, sadness, guilt, and shame. All the feelings of "real" depression.
I explained this to Dr. M and he kind of dismissed it. He said that yes, I'm cycling, but to hang in there and it would get better. Hang in there and it will get better?? I've been in this current down cycle for 4 freaking months! When? When is it going to get better? Of course he can't answer that question. I asked about uppers and he said no. He was worried that 1. they could make me manic, and 2. they could make my depression worse.
Great.
Flailing desperately below the surface appears to be as good as it gets for me.
It'a a damn good thing I'm stubborn.
Friday, December 7, 2018
12/7/18
Well hello there. There's not much new going on here. Our offer was accepted on the house and we're officially under contract. The inspection was yesterday and while it wasn't bad, it also wasn't great (and that's got me worried - what if we lose the house over it??). But we'll just have to see how it goes, right?
Mood wise . . . well . . . I'm not sure I really know. I've still been empty and hollow and flat and a husk. Any feelings I do have are muted. Stunted. I'm still pretending, pretending that I'm okay, that everything is alright. I'm putting on that mask, that facade for everyone. I think people are none the wiser. I don't think they suspect that I'm not doing well. I even put on the facade during therapy this week. I don't know why really. Maybe it was just habit. Maybe I wasn't in the mood to talk about my emotions. Maybe it was too hard. Maybe it was all of the above.
Today has been a rough day. I've managed to clean a little, do some laundry, and do a painting. All while fighting back tears. Let's be honest though, it's not terribly hard to fight back the tears. Why? Because there's no emotion behind them. I'm an empty husk, remember? But they're there none the less, threatening to come. And it's frustrating, really. Like, maybe if I could just cry I'd feel better.
At least I'm managing. I mean, I'm able to work. I kind of keep up the house. I've been painting - I took 2 custom orders. So I've been managing. Which means I don't have to be hospitalized. It's been almost a year since my last hospitalization - I don't want to go back.
I'm still having suicidal thoughts. Every. Single. Day. Even though I have good things going for me. Even though I'm managing. I'm still having those thoughts. I hate them. I wish they would go away. But I don't see that happening any time soon. Maybe the one doctor I fired was right - I'm going to be depressed and suicidal for the rest of my life and I need to learn how to deal with it. Now if that's not a depressing thought I don't know what is.
So anyway, there's where I'm at. Yep.
Mood wise . . . well . . . I'm not sure I really know. I've still been empty and hollow and flat and a husk. Any feelings I do have are muted. Stunted. I'm still pretending, pretending that I'm okay, that everything is alright. I'm putting on that mask, that facade for everyone. I think people are none the wiser. I don't think they suspect that I'm not doing well. I even put on the facade during therapy this week. I don't know why really. Maybe it was just habit. Maybe I wasn't in the mood to talk about my emotions. Maybe it was too hard. Maybe it was all of the above.
Today has been a rough day. I've managed to clean a little, do some laundry, and do a painting. All while fighting back tears. Let's be honest though, it's not terribly hard to fight back the tears. Why? Because there's no emotion behind them. I'm an empty husk, remember? But they're there none the less, threatening to come. And it's frustrating, really. Like, maybe if I could just cry I'd feel better.
At least I'm managing. I mean, I'm able to work. I kind of keep up the house. I've been painting - I took 2 custom orders. So I've been managing. Which means I don't have to be hospitalized. It's been almost a year since my last hospitalization - I don't want to go back.
I'm still having suicidal thoughts. Every. Single. Day. Even though I have good things going for me. Even though I'm managing. I'm still having those thoughts. I hate them. I wish they would go away. But I don't see that happening any time soon. Maybe the one doctor I fired was right - I'm going to be depressed and suicidal for the rest of my life and I need to learn how to deal with it. Now if that's not a depressing thought I don't know what is.
So anyway, there's where I'm at. Yep.
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