So I had therapy today and it was a blast. No really. It was. But that's because I'm hypomanic. I was suspecting that I was and my therapist was like, "yeah, you definitely are."
Let's back up a minute. Last night I slept - about as well as I normally do which means waking up every hour to pee (I drink a lot of water - thanks lithium). This is important because the previous 3 nights I didn't sleep. Maybe 2-3 hours a night. And I didn't feel tired. No. I felt energized! So apparently no sleep + Wellbutrin + starting my mental and emotional mastery program = hypomanic.
You guys, I feel so amazing. Now, I'm not crazy hypomanic - I'm just mildly hypomanic. Enough to feel great and have energy and laugh hysterically for 10 minutes straight at a picture that isn't even really that funny (I did that yesterday).
So in therapy today I talked about the mastery program and spirituality and depression and showed M my latest art and talked about purpose and religion and and and . . . But I was talking really fast and flitting from topic to topic and couldn't really sit still and I was laughing. A lot. M must have gotten a kick out of me because he was laughing too. But even still, it was a good session.
Now my hope is that this hypomania sticks around. For awhile. Or forever. One of the two. (Hopefully forever).
Monday, June 29, 2020
Monday, June 22, 2020
Monday 6/22/20 A New Direction
Well folks, today I embarked on a new adventure. One that I'm hoping will get me results in conquering my depression. I'm excited and nervous about it and for the first time in a long time I have real hope.
So what is this new adventure? Well, it's kind of like therapy . . . but completely different. It's a way of retraining my mind, of "shifting" my mindset from a depressive state to a more positive one. It's an intense 3 month program that focuses on letting go of the "coping mindset". The mastermind behind this is a gentleman named Ty Hicks. I happened to "like" a post of his on Instagram and he looked at my profile and messaged me, asking about my bipolar and depression. Now, I normally don't answer random messages but for some reason I responded to his. We messaged back and forth and he asked me for my phone number to discuss his program. I was a bit taken aback and, honestly, a little weirded out and suspicious, but I ultimately gave it to him.
He called, the next day I think, and we talked briefly about what he could do and we set up a time for him to talk at length with me and hubby. I felt very nervous and unsure. Was this guy for real? What the hell was going on? But, I decided to give a go because why the hell not? At worst it would be an hour and a half of my time gone. At best, well, maybe he could actually help me.
He called this past Saturday and spoke with me and hubby for almost 2 hours. He wanted my full history with mental illness, what I've tried, what worked, what didn't work, how do I feel about it, how does hubby feel about it. He was very thorough and, strangely, very calming and reassuring. I felt comfortable talking to him, baring my soul to a complete stranger. It was very surreal. At the end of it all, hubby and I decided to go for it.
I had my first coaching session with him today and it was intense. He gave me tons - like, a metric fuck ton - of information. I took pages of notes. And what he was saying was making sense. Which freaked me out a little bit. After talking I started going through the videos on the website - my homework. I have 5-7 hours of homework each week along with the coaching calls. It's an intense program.
So anyway, yeah. My new adventure. I'm excited and nervous and hopeful. The End.
So what is this new adventure? Well, it's kind of like therapy . . . but completely different. It's a way of retraining my mind, of "shifting" my mindset from a depressive state to a more positive one. It's an intense 3 month program that focuses on letting go of the "coping mindset". The mastermind behind this is a gentleman named Ty Hicks. I happened to "like" a post of his on Instagram and he looked at my profile and messaged me, asking about my bipolar and depression. Now, I normally don't answer random messages but for some reason I responded to his. We messaged back and forth and he asked me for my phone number to discuss his program. I was a bit taken aback and, honestly, a little weirded out and suspicious, but I ultimately gave it to him.
He called, the next day I think, and we talked briefly about what he could do and we set up a time for him to talk at length with me and hubby. I felt very nervous and unsure. Was this guy for real? What the hell was going on? But, I decided to give a go because why the hell not? At worst it would be an hour and a half of my time gone. At best, well, maybe he could actually help me.
He called this past Saturday and spoke with me and hubby for almost 2 hours. He wanted my full history with mental illness, what I've tried, what worked, what didn't work, how do I feel about it, how does hubby feel about it. He was very thorough and, strangely, very calming and reassuring. I felt comfortable talking to him, baring my soul to a complete stranger. It was very surreal. At the end of it all, hubby and I decided to go for it.
I had my first coaching session with him today and it was intense. He gave me tons - like, a metric fuck ton - of information. I took pages of notes. And what he was saying was making sense. Which freaked me out a little bit. After talking I started going through the videos on the website - my homework. I have 5-7 hours of homework each week along with the coaching calls. It's an intense program.
So anyway, yeah. My new adventure. I'm excited and nervous and hopeful. The End.
Monday, June 15, 2020
Monday 6/15/20 Therapy
Hey there! How are y'all doing today? All of my 2 readers of this blog . . . I hope your day is splendid!
Mine, on the other hand, is not splendid. It's not terrible, but it's not splendid - not by a long shot. It's been rough. I knew it would be when I got up. Just woke up with this heaviness on my chest, in my heart and in my head. I just knew.
But I went about getting ready for the day - you know, hair, makeup, all that jazz. Well, I was almost finished when my phone rang. It was my therapist. I was supposed to have therapy at 9am - it was 8:10. My stomach sank. He's cancelling, I thought. I answered. He had a scheduling conflict and needed to reschedule . . . luckily he had an opening at one. I, of course, took it.
I had breakfast, coffee, and went downstairs to work on a painting I started last week. My emptiness was overwhelming. The depression crushing me but I carried on as if everything was okay. Hubby was working from home today and I didn't want him to worry. I didn't want to be a burden.
Let's skip ahead to therapy, shall we?
I started by telling Mike that I've not been doing well. That I'm struggling. I told him how yesterday I had an okay day but when I woke up this morning I knew. I told him about starting on Wellbutrin (we talked about my appointment with Dr. M as well). Then I had him read Saturday's blog post. We talked at length about it. I cried. Quite a bit. I'm not ashamed of that, I just didn't want to do it. I don't really like crying in front of people. Even Mike or my hubby. But boy did I.
We talked about my emptiness and how I'm trying to fill it (spirituality, relationships, books, clothes . . .). I feel I should specify relationships: I'm trying to strengthen my current relationships. I'm not whoring myself out. So stop thinking that. :) Anyway, Mike really emphasized how relationships and love are central, because the world kinda sucks and is full of suffering. Oh, gee, thanks. The world sucks huh? I knew this already though, just based on what I've gone through in my life.
So yeah, relationships and love. Got it. Spirituality can also be very important, which, yeah, I knew. That's why I'm trying to increase/expand my spirituality. Which is hard since I was never exposed to religion growing up. I've made up my own beliefs. But I'm working on this.
Honestly, none of this made me feel that much better. I mean, knowing I'm on the right path helps, I guess, but I still feel this empty void in me. And it makes me so tired. I'm tired of dealing with it. I'm just fucking tired.
We talked a little about the state of the country/world as well because that can be stressful to be constantly bombarded with. (For future reference, I'm referring to the Covid-19 pandemic and the protests/riots for black lives matter). All of that crap. It can make one weary and I know it definitely affects me a little bit.
Therapy was difficult today. Hopefully that means it will prove to be helpful. Hopefully some nuggets of goodness are planted in the back of my head and they'll help me feel better. I'm praying for this. Maybe you could too.
Man this post seems to be a bunch of rambling. Oh well. It's good to purge.
Mine, on the other hand, is not splendid. It's not terrible, but it's not splendid - not by a long shot. It's been rough. I knew it would be when I got up. Just woke up with this heaviness on my chest, in my heart and in my head. I just knew.
But I went about getting ready for the day - you know, hair, makeup, all that jazz. Well, I was almost finished when my phone rang. It was my therapist. I was supposed to have therapy at 9am - it was 8:10. My stomach sank. He's cancelling, I thought. I answered. He had a scheduling conflict and needed to reschedule . . . luckily he had an opening at one. I, of course, took it.
I had breakfast, coffee, and went downstairs to work on a painting I started last week. My emptiness was overwhelming. The depression crushing me but I carried on as if everything was okay. Hubby was working from home today and I didn't want him to worry. I didn't want to be a burden.
Let's skip ahead to therapy, shall we?
I started by telling Mike that I've not been doing well. That I'm struggling. I told him how yesterday I had an okay day but when I woke up this morning I knew. I told him about starting on Wellbutrin (we talked about my appointment with Dr. M as well). Then I had him read Saturday's blog post. We talked at length about it. I cried. Quite a bit. I'm not ashamed of that, I just didn't want to do it. I don't really like crying in front of people. Even Mike or my hubby. But boy did I.
We talked about my emptiness and how I'm trying to fill it (spirituality, relationships, books, clothes . . .). I feel I should specify relationships: I'm trying to strengthen my current relationships. I'm not whoring myself out. So stop thinking that. :) Anyway, Mike really emphasized how relationships and love are central, because the world kinda sucks and is full of suffering. Oh, gee, thanks. The world sucks huh? I knew this already though, just based on what I've gone through in my life.
So yeah, relationships and love. Got it. Spirituality can also be very important, which, yeah, I knew. That's why I'm trying to increase/expand my spirituality. Which is hard since I was never exposed to religion growing up. I've made up my own beliefs. But I'm working on this.
Honestly, none of this made me feel that much better. I mean, knowing I'm on the right path helps, I guess, but I still feel this empty void in me. And it makes me so tired. I'm tired of dealing with it. I'm just fucking tired.
We talked a little about the state of the country/world as well because that can be stressful to be constantly bombarded with. (For future reference, I'm referring to the Covid-19 pandemic and the protests/riots for black lives matter). All of that crap. It can make one weary and I know it definitely affects me a little bit.
Therapy was difficult today. Hopefully that means it will prove to be helpful. Hopefully some nuggets of goodness are planted in the back of my head and they'll help me feel better. I'm praying for this. Maybe you could too.
Man this post seems to be a bunch of rambling. Oh well. It's good to purge.
Saturday, June 13, 2020
Saturday 6/13/20 Some Thoughts
So.
Here we are again. We can't keep meeting up like this. People will talk.
Or not. Probably not. There's not much to talk about.
I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I couldn't shut off my brain. So many thoughts swirling around in my head and I couldn't keep up. I had some of what I thought were good ideas but they escaped me as soon as they came. I wish I had gotten up and written them down. Maybe I should keep a notebook next to my bed. . .
Anyway, it's no secret that I've been struggling. This hole, this emptiness that been with me since I was a little girl, is growing. And nothing seems to fill it - not even my hubby or son. Which pains me so much. They are my everything and they should be enough but that damn hole lingers. I don't know what to do. Nothing helps. Buying stuff? Pffft, no. Spending time with my family? Well, I guess it does help but not nearly enough. I've been praying, doing daily Bible readings, and started reading the Bible . . . nope. Nothing.
Actually, reading the Bible kind of angers me. Why? Because I don't understand it. It makes no sense to me. And I don't get anything out of it. I'll read what's supposed to be a meaningful passage and it's nothing to me. I don't get filled with the holy spirit or whatever. I'm not moved. It doesn't help. I wish it did. I wish I was one of those people with faith who find meaning in life. I find no meaning in life.
I find no meaning in life.
I don't know how to. I look for joy in the small things and, sometimes when the darkness isn't so all encompassing, I find it. Briefly. But it never sustains me. I yearn for more but I rarely find it. I'm stuck in this cycle, this cycle of hating life and everything in it, punctuated by rare glimpses of how life could be. I know how life could be. Last year I was stable and happy for 5 months before everything came crashing down again.
I'm on my 4th month now being depressed again and I fucking hate it. I hate every fucking thing about it. It's not fair. But Cami, life isn't fair. You know what? Fuck you. That's all I have to say about that (to quote Forrest Gump). If God has some sort of master plan for me he better reveal something about it soon because this is tiresome. Dreadfully tiresome.
So yeah. I'm trying to better myself. And I'm failing. I'm trying to fight my depression and I'm failing. I'm trying to fill my hole and I'm failing. Yes, I know I have a very negative viewpoint. I'm trying to be positive, I really am. You just can't tell by this blog post. I'm venting. I'm allowed to do that, to vent. And I'm probably failing at that too.
Here we are again. We can't keep meeting up like this. People will talk.
Or not. Probably not. There's not much to talk about.
I had a hard time falling asleep last night. I couldn't shut off my brain. So many thoughts swirling around in my head and I couldn't keep up. I had some of what I thought were good ideas but they escaped me as soon as they came. I wish I had gotten up and written them down. Maybe I should keep a notebook next to my bed. . .
Anyway, it's no secret that I've been struggling. This hole, this emptiness that been with me since I was a little girl, is growing. And nothing seems to fill it - not even my hubby or son. Which pains me so much. They are my everything and they should be enough but that damn hole lingers. I don't know what to do. Nothing helps. Buying stuff? Pffft, no. Spending time with my family? Well, I guess it does help but not nearly enough. I've been praying, doing daily Bible readings, and started reading the Bible . . . nope. Nothing.
Actually, reading the Bible kind of angers me. Why? Because I don't understand it. It makes no sense to me. And I don't get anything out of it. I'll read what's supposed to be a meaningful passage and it's nothing to me. I don't get filled with the holy spirit or whatever. I'm not moved. It doesn't help. I wish it did. I wish I was one of those people with faith who find meaning in life. I find no meaning in life.
I find no meaning in life.
I don't know how to. I look for joy in the small things and, sometimes when the darkness isn't so all encompassing, I find it. Briefly. But it never sustains me. I yearn for more but I rarely find it. I'm stuck in this cycle, this cycle of hating life and everything in it, punctuated by rare glimpses of how life could be. I know how life could be. Last year I was stable and happy for 5 months before everything came crashing down again.
I'm on my 4th month now being depressed again and I fucking hate it. I hate every fucking thing about it. It's not fair. But Cami, life isn't fair. You know what? Fuck you. That's all I have to say about that (to quote Forrest Gump). If God has some sort of master plan for me he better reveal something about it soon because this is tiresome. Dreadfully tiresome.
So yeah. I'm trying to better myself. And I'm failing. I'm trying to fight my depression and I'm failing. I'm trying to fill my hole and I'm failing. Yes, I know I have a very negative viewpoint. I'm trying to be positive, I really am. You just can't tell by this blog post. I'm venting. I'm allowed to do that, to vent. And I'm probably failing at that too.
Wednesday, June 10, 2020
Wednesday 6/10/20 Psychiatrist Visit
I saw my psychiatrist, Dr. M, yesterday for my routine 3 month check in. I typically see him every 3 months for a med review, symptom review, and med refill. Invariably he also mentions, briefly, ECT. This takes up the first 10 minutes of the appointment. The second 10 minutes is spent chatting about my job (nursery nurse) and life in general. My scripts are sent and I make an appoint for 3 months to do it all over again. Last year we were also discussing TMS as I was going through it. But this is pretty much how things go.
Not yesterday though. If you've been keeping up with my blog then you know that I've been pretty darn depressed again and wanting a change (not ECT). I think I need a med change. While the med combo I'm on has kept me the most stable, it's falling short with my depression. I had some ideas of what we could do, but I wanted to hear what Dr. M had to say before I offered up suggestions. He is, after all, the MD.
I think he could tell something was wrong when I walked in. Just something about my aura maybe . . . or my resting bitch face and over sized hoodie in June. He asked how I was doing. Not good. He looked at me a moment, leaned back in his chair and asked what was up. I told him about how my depression is getting progressively worse, how I feel so empty and dead inside. How I've been doing maintenance TMS and how it's not really helping. My lip trembled. I need something different. He folded his hands in his lap and - of course - asked if I had given any thought to trying ECT again. I told him yes I had but because of the memory issues I already have, I'm worried about them getting worse and me not being able to do my job. He nodded and said he'd review my meds and history.
I sat forward in my chair, wringing my hands with anxiety. See, I came here knowing that I would be firing Dr. M. I've tried getting a med change with him before and met with resistance. He always only offers ECT. And I don't want ECT. That would be an absolute last resort. An I-know-I-will-kill-myself-if-I-don't type of thing.
He looked over at me, his glasses hanging precariously off the end of his nose. "Cami, you've been on almost everything. All of the powerhouses we use for bipolar . . . you've been on them. And then some." He leaned back. "One med I don't see that you've been on is Wellbutrin. It's an antidepressant that works differently than the Prestiq you're currently on. We could try adding that to your current regimen and see if that helps bring you up."
I thought a minute and slowly nodded my head.
"It's our best bet without doing a complete upheaval of you regimen. I'd prefer not to do that as you've been the most stable on it."
I nodded again. "Okay. I'll try it." I was surprised really. I wasn't expecting him to offer up a medication for me to try. I was a little dumbfounded.
Dr. M discussed how the titration up would go and that I would need to see him again in a month for a follow up to see how I was doing on it. I nodded and thanked him. We still had time to talk about delivering babies, which grosses him out, but I think secretly fascinates him.
I guess I don't have to fire him yet after all.
In other news, last night I took my first Wellbutrin, 150mg. I take 150mg nightly for 10 days and then go up to 300mg nightly. This morning I felt groggy (drowsiness is a side effect) and I've been sluggish all day. I'm hoping after my body gets used to it this will go away. We'll see.
Not yesterday though. If you've been keeping up with my blog then you know that I've been pretty darn depressed again and wanting a change (not ECT). I think I need a med change. While the med combo I'm on has kept me the most stable, it's falling short with my depression. I had some ideas of what we could do, but I wanted to hear what Dr. M had to say before I offered up suggestions. He is, after all, the MD.
I think he could tell something was wrong when I walked in. Just something about my aura maybe . . . or my resting bitch face and over sized hoodie in June. He asked how I was doing. Not good. He looked at me a moment, leaned back in his chair and asked what was up. I told him about how my depression is getting progressively worse, how I feel so empty and dead inside. How I've been doing maintenance TMS and how it's not really helping. My lip trembled. I need something different. He folded his hands in his lap and - of course - asked if I had given any thought to trying ECT again. I told him yes I had but because of the memory issues I already have, I'm worried about them getting worse and me not being able to do my job. He nodded and said he'd review my meds and history.
I sat forward in my chair, wringing my hands with anxiety. See, I came here knowing that I would be firing Dr. M. I've tried getting a med change with him before and met with resistance. He always only offers ECT. And I don't want ECT. That would be an absolute last resort. An I-know-I-will-kill-myself-if-I-don't type of thing.
He looked over at me, his glasses hanging precariously off the end of his nose. "Cami, you've been on almost everything. All of the powerhouses we use for bipolar . . . you've been on them. And then some." He leaned back. "One med I don't see that you've been on is Wellbutrin. It's an antidepressant that works differently than the Prestiq you're currently on. We could try adding that to your current regimen and see if that helps bring you up."
I thought a minute and slowly nodded my head.
"It's our best bet without doing a complete upheaval of you regimen. I'd prefer not to do that as you've been the most stable on it."
I nodded again. "Okay. I'll try it." I was surprised really. I wasn't expecting him to offer up a medication for me to try. I was a little dumbfounded.
Dr. M discussed how the titration up would go and that I would need to see him again in a month for a follow up to see how I was doing on it. I nodded and thanked him. We still had time to talk about delivering babies, which grosses him out, but I think secretly fascinates him.
I guess I don't have to fire him yet after all.
In other news, last night I took my first Wellbutrin, 150mg. I take 150mg nightly for 10 days and then go up to 300mg nightly. This morning I felt groggy (drowsiness is a side effect) and I've been sluggish all day. I'm hoping after my body gets used to it this will go away. We'll see.
Thursday, June 4, 2020
Thursday 6/4/20 Therapy
Well. Therapy was a bit different today than it normally is. Different in a good way, different in a weird way . . . just, different. It started with M meeting me outside his office. I was a bit confused, actually.
"Do you remember a few months ago when I said I had someone in a similar situation as you?" M asked. "And I thought you two could meet?"
"Umm, no, not really," I replied.
"Well I do, and his appointment was just before yours. I thought you could meet him and talk a little bit. Are you okay with that?"
"Sure, I guess." M ushered me into the building and into his office. Truthfully, I was a little taken aback. I almost never mind talking to other people with bipolar disorder - I usually enjoy it - but my initial thought was that this would eat into my session. And I wasn't too keen on that. I had stuff I wanted to talk about.
As I walked into M's office I saw a rather good looking young fellow who introduced himself as Jacob. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt but looked put together. I introduced myself and took a seat in M's rocking chair - he insisted I sit there. M had Jacob and I start by giving each other some background info about ourselves, including why we were seeing M.
"Well," I said, "I'm seeing M because I'm bat shit crazy." (enter slightly tense laughter here) "Actually, that's kinda true. I was diagnosed 10 years ago, and I've been diagnosed as both bipolar 1 and 2, no one seems to know which I really am. Not that it matters. I also have chronic PTSD. I've dealt with depression since I was in 5th grade, misdiagnosed as Major Depression for many years. I've had my ups and downs, but I mostly struggle with the depression side of bipolar. I'm a nurse, I deliver babies, I love my job. I'm married and we have a 13 year old son. My husband is the most supportive person I know and I would be lost without him. I've been hospitalized 6 times - once for mania and 5 times for depression/suicidal ideation. Um . . . and I have a dog."
Jacob was attentive while I rambled on, nodding here and there. He told me he had also been dealing with depression since he was young and was misdiagnosed as ADHD, anxiety, and Major Depression until he was diagnosed bipolar 2 a year and a half ago. He's struggled with ups and downs too, mostly downs. He's struggled with drugs and alcohol in the past but feels he has that aspect under control. He mostly used the drugs and alcohol to numb his symptoms. His father is his biggest supporter, along with a few close friends.
Now, to be fair, there was more that Jacob said. He was very well spoken and very out spoken. And, honestly, I don't remember it all.
We talked for 45 minutes about our experiences, meds, psychiatrists, hospitalizations, support systems, stigma, coping mechanisms, art (he draws and plays music, I draw/paint), and therapy. I thoroughly enjoyed talking with him.
After 45 minutes M "kicked him out" so we could talk. Jacob asked for my number to talk again, which I gave him. And then M and I had a 20 minute mini session. I told him about my crap moods, about feeling like a burden, about cutting. It was an intense mini session, and that, coupled with all the talking with Jacob . . . well, I'm a bit worn out. Mentally, not physically. Obviously.
In other news, I had maintenance TMS again on Tuesday. They re-mapped my brain and upped the intensity slightly. Hopefully this helps. Wednesday I did a short workout which felt nice. Nice to move my body again. Though I'm sore today. And I see Dr. M next Tuesday. And, well, I might be firing him. I think I need a med change. I don't think my current combo is working like it should be. So if all he does is offer ECT, then I'll find myself a different doctor. One who is willing to work WITH me. I hope I don't have to fire Dr. M - I've been with him for 5-6 years. But I need someone who's going to listen to me.
I think that's all I got in me. I might need a nap.
"Do you remember a few months ago when I said I had someone in a similar situation as you?" M asked. "And I thought you two could meet?"
"Umm, no, not really," I replied.
"Well I do, and his appointment was just before yours. I thought you could meet him and talk a little bit. Are you okay with that?"
"Sure, I guess." M ushered me into the building and into his office. Truthfully, I was a little taken aback. I almost never mind talking to other people with bipolar disorder - I usually enjoy it - but my initial thought was that this would eat into my session. And I wasn't too keen on that. I had stuff I wanted to talk about.
As I walked into M's office I saw a rather good looking young fellow who introduced himself as Jacob. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt but looked put together. I introduced myself and took a seat in M's rocking chair - he insisted I sit there. M had Jacob and I start by giving each other some background info about ourselves, including why we were seeing M.
"Well," I said, "I'm seeing M because I'm bat shit crazy." (enter slightly tense laughter here) "Actually, that's kinda true. I was diagnosed 10 years ago, and I've been diagnosed as both bipolar 1 and 2, no one seems to know which I really am. Not that it matters. I also have chronic PTSD. I've dealt with depression since I was in 5th grade, misdiagnosed as Major Depression for many years. I've had my ups and downs, but I mostly struggle with the depression side of bipolar. I'm a nurse, I deliver babies, I love my job. I'm married and we have a 13 year old son. My husband is the most supportive person I know and I would be lost without him. I've been hospitalized 6 times - once for mania and 5 times for depression/suicidal ideation. Um . . . and I have a dog."
Jacob was attentive while I rambled on, nodding here and there. He told me he had also been dealing with depression since he was young and was misdiagnosed as ADHD, anxiety, and Major Depression until he was diagnosed bipolar 2 a year and a half ago. He's struggled with ups and downs too, mostly downs. He's struggled with drugs and alcohol in the past but feels he has that aspect under control. He mostly used the drugs and alcohol to numb his symptoms. His father is his biggest supporter, along with a few close friends.
Now, to be fair, there was more that Jacob said. He was very well spoken and very out spoken. And, honestly, I don't remember it all.
We talked for 45 minutes about our experiences, meds, psychiatrists, hospitalizations, support systems, stigma, coping mechanisms, art (he draws and plays music, I draw/paint), and therapy. I thoroughly enjoyed talking with him.
After 45 minutes M "kicked him out" so we could talk. Jacob asked for my number to talk again, which I gave him. And then M and I had a 20 minute mini session. I told him about my crap moods, about feeling like a burden, about cutting. It was an intense mini session, and that, coupled with all the talking with Jacob . . . well, I'm a bit worn out. Mentally, not physically. Obviously.
In other news, I had maintenance TMS again on Tuesday. They re-mapped my brain and upped the intensity slightly. Hopefully this helps. Wednesday I did a short workout which felt nice. Nice to move my body again. Though I'm sore today. And I see Dr. M next Tuesday. And, well, I might be firing him. I think I need a med change. I don't think my current combo is working like it should be. So if all he does is offer ECT, then I'll find myself a different doctor. One who is willing to work WITH me. I hope I don't have to fire Dr. M - I've been with him for 5-6 years. But I need someone who's going to listen to me.
I think that's all I got in me. I might need a nap.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)