Thursday 10/6/22 Ketamine

 Today I have my first ketamine infusion. It's scheduled at 12:30 so I'll be leaving the house in about an hour. I figured I'd be more anxious than I am - I'm really quite bored. Maybe as the time gets closer or when I actually get there . . . But for now, bored. Numb. Withdrawn. Flat. I have an hour to kill and I don't know what to do with myself. Drawing, painting, sewing, reading . . . all sound horrible. I have no desire to do any of that. I was looking through landscapes on Pinterest, trying to find inspiration, and all I got was frustrated. I hate this. I hate this numbness and lack of motivation/drive to do anything. I end up just sitting and staring at the wall. Or laying in bed doing the same. 

I haven't been getting anything accomplished. No housework (save for laundry), no hobbies, no nothing. I just don't care. I need to be figuring things out for the craft fair I'm doing in December but I just don't care enough to. I should be sewing or painting. But I don't care. I should be reading or cleaning. But I don't care. I wish I could at least read, because reading can be an escape. But I can't stay focused long enough to comprehend anything. So mostly I end up staring off into space or scrolling social media as a way to pass the time. Neither of which are good options. I feel like such a failure because of this. 

So hopefully the ketamine will help. I decided to write before the infusion as I don't know what state I'll be in after. Maybe I'll feel loopy or sleepy. Maybe I'll feel fine. I don't know. Perhaps, if I don't go to work tomorrow, I'll  hop on here and write about my experience. Yeah. I'm considering calling in tomorrow. And Saturday as I'm on call. Work keeps me busy but it's so draining. It's hard to keep up the illusion that I'm okay. It's exhausting, really. And people have started noticing that I'm not at my best. And I almost feel like a fraud to myself for pretending I'm okay when I'm not. I don't know. It's weird. And I also have a cold, which is annoying. 

Wednesday 4/27/22 Therapy

 I have therapy today, in two hours. This is the only reason I'm not still in bed and have showered. Because I'm going to therapy. Otherwise, today would be spent much like yesterday was - in bed. My mental health has taken a turn for the worse. I'm so empty that I don't care to do anything. Just sleep. It's easier that way. When I sleep I don't have to deal with how I'm feeling. Which is bad. 

Yesterday I went to a work meeting first thing in the morning. When I got home I got back in bed and stayed there until I had lunch. Then - you guessed it - back to bed. I got up to pick my son up from school and did stay up after that, mainly because hubby got home and I didn't want him to see how bad I was feeling. I went to Latigo to volunteer last night and got to do more with the horses, which was nice. I pretended that everything was A-okay. It wasn't. I still was feeling so numb. 

I hoped that playing with horses last night would help me feel better this morning but no, I feel like crap. Took Ayden to school, had breakfast and coffee, and then back to bed. I did, however, force myself to get up and put away laundry and shower. I even put on makeup in an attempt to not feel so crappy about myself. I still feel crappy about myself. I'm exhausted (for no real reason), empty, numb, and down. And I feel fat and gross and ugly. And, on top of it all, I have a headache. So much fun. 

So yeah. Therapy today. I don't know what we'll go over. I know Mike had said last time (which was 6-7 weeks ago) that we needed to start revisiting my traumas. And we started that last time. But I certainly don't feel up to that today. I feel like curling up in a ball and not existing. Or going to sleep and not waking up until I feel better. I think revisiting trauma will make me feel even worse - not something that I need today. 

On top of me feeling like crap I'm trying to be present and helpful and supportive of two friends who are going through a rough time. So I'm pretending even more like everything is okay. How can I be supportive and empathetic if I don't have my shit together?? 

And then my mom. My fucking mom who thinks we have some close relationship that grants her the ability to call me 3 or more times a day for support and venting, etc ( we do NOT have a relationship, hardly at all, but certainly not the one she thinks we have). She's expecting me to support her emotionally because she has no friends to turn to and for some reason doesn't want to talk to her husband. No, she calls me drunk and crying, looking for support that I can't - and won't - give. It's not my responsibility to be my mother's parent and friend. I don't want that roll. Ever. Because again, we do not have any sort of healthy relationship. She's a major trigger for me - just getting a text from her sends my anxiety spiraling. 

All this fucking shit to deal with. And work. Of course work. It's been busy and annoying and all consuming. I work tomorrow and two Thursdays in May; days which I could be volunteering but can't. I can't find anyone to switch days with me so that I could maybe have one of those Thursdays off. But no. No one wants to switch because God forbid someone return the favor of helping me out. 

Anyway, that's enough venting I guess. We'll see how therapy goes today. And how my evening goes. And how my life goes.  

Wednesday 4/6/22 Therapy?

 I'm supposed to have therapy tomorrow morning at 0800. But now I'm not. Mike texted me this morning, needing to cancel and reschedule our appointment (he has a sick family member he needs to visit). Which is fine, I guess, except now I have to wait another 3 weeks. That will be 6 weeks between appointments. Which, I guess, isn't so bad. Right? It's not like I'm in crisis or something. But, truth be told, I was wanting that appointment tomorrow. Really wanting it. And now it's not for another 3 weeks. Which, let's be honest, kind of sucks. 

When I saw the text from Mike this morning my heart sank. I felt kind of crushed. I teared up. I probably would have cried if I was able to muster up any emotion. But I get it. Family comes first. I just wish it didn't make me feel so crappy. And I feel like I'm selfish for feeling this way. Which makes me feel guilty. Which makes me feel more crappy. And I'm having an off day anyway, which makes me feel crappy. And then I tried to paint and ruined a painting, which makes me feel crappy. It's all around a crappy day for me. Way to be negative, self.

Yesterday I had my first volunteering shift at the riding center. I'm a side walker right now, which means I walk along side the horse and help keep the rider stable, help keep him focused on the task at hand. The class was an hour long, from 1715 - 1815. Kind of late, but oh well. It was the only opening they had for a regular position on Tuesdays. And it was good. It was fun. At least, I say it was fun. In all actuality I'm numb and blah and withdrawn. It was better than I thought it was going to be, but I think I'm trying to convince myself that I had fun. But I got to smell the barn smells and scratch some horses and get some exercise . . . so that was good. And it's the only way I can get my foot in the door to hopefully do more with the horses (like mucking stalls and grooming). So that was yesterday. 

I'm still very much just going through the motions of life. No real joy or happiness or contentment. I feel hollow, empty, like nothing matters so why try. And it's a real shitty way to feel. I'm so sick of it. It's this constant low level depression that just won't go away. I'm unfeeling. I've been drawing and painting quite a bit, but I'm not getting pleasure out of it - I'm doing it to pass the time. It distracts me so I don't wallow in how empty and pointless I feel. I'm so hoping that being around horses again will help. Because I don't know what else to do. The only thing treatment wise I have left to try is ketamine - and I'd rather avoid that if I can. I hate feeling so numb though. Maybe I really do need to see Dr. Marciniak again, see if there's any med tweak we can try. I don't know. I'm pretty sure there isn't. Horses are kind of my last ditch effort. 

Anyway, I guess I should end this on a positive note, right? Not be so negative. So here's a couple of brush style horses I painted yesterday:

 

I really like this style. It's loose and freeing. We'll end with that. 

Thursday 3/31/22 Ugh

 Tomorrow is April. Time seems to be flying by, but also feels like it's at a standstill. It's weird. I'm looking forward to warmer weather and sunshine. I want to do more hiking and walks this summer, horseback riding and lounging outside. I'd really like to. I want to be more active, lose more weight (I've hit a plateau). I want to make memories. 

But my brain hates me.

I've been so numb lately. So blah in everything I do. There's no passion in me. Hell, there's nothing in me - I'm an empty husk. I can play it off that I'm okay, for the most part. I'd say most people can't tell that I'm struggling. But my fuse is getting shorter. I'm getting more irritable and down. But still so empty. I keep feeling like if I could just cry - get it all out - I'd feel so much better. But I can't. I physically can't cry. There's nothing there. No emotion. I've tried forcing it to no avail. Because there is nothing there. I'm so numb and empty and blah. Anhedonia and apathy are my playmates from hell. And I hate this. So. Fucking. Much. 

I woke up this morning feeling pretty low. I had no motivation for anything. I didn't want to leave bed. What's the point? But I did. I took Ayden to school, had breakfast, then went back to bed. For an hour. I had to force myself to get up and shower. But I did. And I went downstairs and painted a little bit. But I didn't enjoy it. And I think my work shows that. So I stopped. I had lunch, did laundry, and now I'm writing all of this. I'm so tired of feeling nothing. I'm so tired of faking emotions. I'm so tired of everything. Why do I have to go through this? All. The. Time. All. My. Life. I'm sick of it. I'm seriously considering calling in sick to work tomorrow, just so I don't have to pretend. Because nothing brings me joy or happiness or satisfaction or contentment or anything. I feel nothing or I feel irritable. What a way to live. 

I keep thinking I should be grateful that I'm not deep in a bad depression. That I'm not fighting suicidal thoughts (though I still have them from time to time). But somehow . . . this almost feels worse. I'm so tired of pretending. Everyone expects me to be okay. And I think that people would be tired of it if they knew the truth. I mean, I'm tired of it, why wouldn't they be?

So I'm floating along, trying to keep my head above water. It's not easy. Nothing is easy. Ever. I hate this. So. Much. And while I teared up writing this, I can't fucking cry.

Thursday 2/24/22 Another Heavy Sigh Day

Two posts close together. Weird. 

On Monday (my last post), I didn't really feel like writing. But I did. At least a little bit. Today I feel like writing . . . but I don't know how much. 

I had therapy this morning and I don't really know what to say anymore there. I feel like I'm beating a dead horse. I'm bipolar, I have depression, this is what I feel like, these are the things I'm doing to combat it, blah, blah, blah. Over and over again. I feel as though I'm boring Mike - which is a stupid way to feel - but I can't help it. In the 8-9 years I've been seeing Mike we've gone over all of my trauma ad nauseum. There isn't anything new to discuss. No reason I should be feeling the way I do except that I'm bipolar. And in a depressive episode. Which, honestly, is frustrating. Because yeah - I feel like I'm boring and whiney and undeserving. I feel like I shouldn't be in therapy, like I should be able to figure this out on my own by now. 

But I can't.

And as much as I let on that there is hope . . . I feel kind of lost and hopeless. Because this keeps going on. I keep having episodes. And I will keep having episodes for as long as I live. And that's a very daunting future. Even though I had a year of "normalcy" it's like I can't remember what it was like. The depression is so consuming, even though it's not nearly as bad as it was in the past. I'm still struggling. Every. Single. Day. I'm struggling. Quietly. Undetectable to most people, I'm struggling. 

See, my depression isn't the obvious sobbing, suicidal crisis. I'm not having breakdowns every day. This episode is insidious and quiet and unrelenting. No, I'm not sobbing over everything. In fact, I can't cry. It doesn't matter what happens, I can't cry. There's nothing there. This episode has left me an empty husk. An unfeeling thing with such limited emotions it's as if I feel nothing. I'm dead inside. Hollow. There's nothing left. I'm just going about the motions of life, doing what needs to be done, doing the bare minimum because I have no drive, no motivation, no life inside of me. This is a horrible way to feel, to feel nothing. And I'm lost as to what to do. 

Mike thinks my medications are to blame. Maybe they are. They're keeping the mania at bay - and probably the worst of my depression - but I'm left numb. I'm left unfeeling. And, I guess, I should clarify: I can feel anger. Anger, resentment, annoyance, irritability. I can feel those emotions. But joy? Happiness? Contentment? Sorrow, even? No. Those emotions are out of my grasp. 

I describe it as feeling "blah" or "meh". I'm just existing. I don't get excited for anything. I'm getting a new tattoo next Tuesday and I'm all, "yep. Whatever." Like I don't even care. Which, I guess, I really don't. Being so empty it's hard to care. About anything. All I want to do is sleep. Sleep and not wake up until I feel better. So I nap. A lot. Because then I don't have to deal with not feeling. 

I'm doing everything I know to do to beat this. Exercising, eating healthy, painting, therapy, my meds, supplements, praying, singing along to music, putting on a happy face . . . you name it, I'm probably doing it. I don't know what else to do. What the fuck am I supposed to do??? I'm so tired of this, tired of fighting a war I can't win. 

I guess I'll call my psychiatrist. Talk to him about adjusting my meds. I don't know what else to do. 

Wednesday 2/9/22 How About Some Horses

 So I painted some horses. Five paintings. Two are alright; three are crap. I'm out of practice painting horses and it shows. Oh well, practice makes perfect right?

Here's one of the okay paintings:

It's not too bad, just also not great. I can do better. Maybe I was just having an off day on Monday. Well, I know I was having an off day, in more areas than just painting. Monday was a day of feeling like crap, hating myself, and being depressed. It was not fun. But what can you do? Press on, like always. So I painted - poorly - and carried on. 

I worked yesterday and it was set up to be a horrifically busy day delivering babies. But then, it wasn't. We only did 5 deliveries (and left 7 in labor for night shift - oops!). And my mood was mostly okay. Withdrawn, but okay. Which was a God send after how I was feeling on Monday. 

Today I'm very blah. Numb. Flat. Nothing. Existing. And I'm not digging it. I painted again today, just a couple of paintings. Other than that I've been kind of floating around, not really doing anything. I want to work out but I have no motivation. It would be so much easier to sleep. And that's pretty much my life. No motivation, let's just sleep. Feeling bad? Let's just sleep. Bored? Sleep. Hungry? Sleep. I don't want to be this way but I can't seem to change it. Now, I'm not always sleeping. No. Sometimes I'm staring off into space or scrolling social media. Because these things are easier than dealing with my feelings. Which often don't feel good. 

Ugh. This sucks y'all. 

Thursday 2/3/22 Therapy

 I had therapy this morning. Early this morning. Like, 0800 this morning. It was ridiculously cold out. So cold it took my truck a few extra seconds to start. I don't like it that cold. We had a snow storm come through Tuesday and Wednesday and dump around 6 inches of snow. And then with the cold everything froze. 

Anyway, therapy. Mike and I spent the majority of the time talking about work. My work, obviously. Because, well, I'm burnt out. So burnt out. To the point where I don't want to go anymore. I dread going to work. Every day. I've been full time again for a year now, after having been part time for, I don't know, 6 years? I was proud of myself when I went back to full time last year. So proud. Now I'm wondering what the fuck I was thinking. Mike agrees with me in that respect. And suggested that maybe I go back to part time. Ugh. I'd feel like a total failure going back to part time. Like I've let everyone down - family and coworkers both. And myself. Mike pointed out that maybe I'm being too hard on myself (I am), but I can't help it. But yeah, I mean, work is an external, modifiable component contributing to my depression. So if I could change that, in theory, it would help my depression. Makes sense. But I am loathe to go part time again. For a lot of reasons really. But mainly because I don't want to be seen as a failure. How I see myself. Oy vey. 

Jer (hubby) and I talked about it this afternoon too. He keeps telling me that if I need to go part time again I can totally do it. Our budget is based off my part time pay (the extra I'm making is going into savings or to purchase all my protein powder and other frivolous spending). So yeah - money wise I could totally do it. Jer wants me to be happy and healthy. And I get that. I want to be happy and healthy too. But . . . failure. Extra money. Not contributing enough. I just . . . I don't know. We came up with a compromise though: I have lots of vacation time. Like, 200 hours. Now, the next 6 week schedule is already set in stone (and it sucks, honestly), but after this schedule I'm going to take a day off each week for a little while and use some of my vacation time. It's like going part time for a bit but not really doing it. Maybe it'll help. I really hope it does. 

I've been feeling so numb and empty and withdrawn and down lately. I keep thinking that if maybe I could have a good cry it would help. Release everything bottled up inside. But I can't cry. I physically can't. There's nothing in me. No real emotion other than anger. Numb and empty. I can't muster up enough emotion to cry. How sad is that? 

Anyway, therapy was good. Mike enjoyed my artwork. All 18 paintings I brought. Lord have mercy, why did I have so many paintings?? Well, because painting can be cathartic. I did two paintings today too (I'll bring those next time). 

Um . . . that's all I got for now. Cheers.