Friday 5/29/20 Bets Off

Oy vey. I'm supposed to be at work today. I'm writing this so obviously I'm not. I was put on delayed start until one. That means instead of going into work at 7am, my delayed start time is 1pm - but only if I'm needed. If I'm not needed I'll be put on call. I have a sneaking suspicion that I won't be needed.

So I'm at home, trying to come up with something to do. I want to draw, I just can't come up with something to draw. So I figured I'd write instead. Listen to some music. See if I can get the creative juices flowing.

And so far it's not working.

Damn.

Mood wise I'm status quo: empty, down, numb, hopeless, pointless, etc. I have maintenance TMS again next Tuesday the 2nd. I'm hopefully going to talk to Dr. F and see if he's accepting new patients. I hope so. I pray he is. (If you read my last post you know why). I need something new, a fresh set of eyes, and I don't think I'll get that from Dr. M anymore. I truly believe Dr. M is done with me.

In other news, I hate my hair. I'm growing it out from a pixie and it's in this really awkward phase of being too long but too short to do anything. I'm so close to cutting it off again. I really hate it. And hair on average grows only 6 inches per year. This is going to take forever. Two-three years of awkwardness. Ugh. What to do, what to do . . .

I guess I don't have that much to say today.  Hope all is well with you.

Monday 3/16/20

Wow. A lot can change in 3 short days. Unless you're living under a rock you know about covid-19 sweeping the world. When last I wrote, 3 short days ago, I was very nonchalant about covid-19. But I'm not nonchalant anymore. My son's school is closed at least through the end of March, possibly longer. Hell, all the schools are closed. Grocery stores are bare, people are fighting over toilet paper. It's other worldly. It's hard to believe.

But I went grocery shopping yesterday for a few staples . . . three stores before I could find a loaf of bread. A loaf of fucking bread. The shelves are literally bare. Everyone is panic buying and hoarding. I was in a state of disbelief.

We all know this, we've all seen this happening in our own towns. So why am I mentioning it? Because any good my TMS session did for me is being completely undone. Undone by stress and fear and anxiety. Yesterday and today I'm having a hard time coping and functioning. My anxiety is rearing its ugly head after it being absent for so long. This underlying current is constantly there, almost making me sick to my stomach. You know that butterflies in your stomach feeling? Imagine having it all the time. Imagine a tremor in your hands, jaw clenched, sense of dread or impending doom all the time. I can't control it. It's just there. It's not obvious to anyone else (at least I don't think so). I'm working so hard to hide it and that is exhausting me.

And what comes with anxiety for me? What goes hand in hand? Depression. Depression does. And I've been feeling it again. After starting to feel okay again last week, depression is sneaking back in. It's insidious. It's taking advantage of my current situation.

And you guys, I can't do this. There's no end in sight. I can't keep feeling like this. I can't. I'm trying so hard. But I have so many fears swirling in my fucked up head right now. Like, I mean, I'm a nurse. What if we start seeing covid-19 cases in my hospital and I have to float to other floors to help out? I won't know what the hell I'm doing! I take care of well newborns and their mothers! Not sick people. And what if we don't have supplies? My hospital is already rationing masks. What if someone in my family gets sick? What if I get sick? What if we run out of food? What if shipments stop coming? What if I can't get my meds? What if I can't get gas? What if we actually run out of toilet paper?

All these thoughts and more are circling my head constantly. I'm having a hard time concentrating. On anything. I want to read, distract myself, get lost in a story . . . and I just can't. I can't concentrate. My brain won't shut up. The only relief I get is from napping. Only then does it shut up.

But I'm trying not to do that. Sleeping all the time isn't healthy and only reinforces the depression aspect of this. WTF. Seriously.

I need this to stop. I need things to go back the way they were before. God help me.

12/27/18

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.

9/25/18

It's my birthday today. Can you sense the excitement? Don't worry if you can't - it's not there. And it's not because "oh no I'm a year older"! Honestly that doesn't phase me at all. No, it's because I'm still feeling depressed.

You know, depressed isn't really the right word. When I think of me being depressed, I think of sobbing and wanting to die and cutting myself and utter, bleak hopelessness. I'm not there yet. I'm, I don't know, more mild depression I guess. I feel down and flat and withdrawn and lost and yes, a little hopeless. I don't feel sad. I feel anhedonic. I really feel flat. I'm just kind of emotionless except for anger and annoyance.

I feel tired. Exhausted really. Keeping my mental health in check is hard work. Not to mention that I only average around 5 hours of sleep a night (thank you brain and bladder). The exhaustion isn't just physical though - it's mostly mental and emotional, which sleep doesn't fix (although you best believe I try to fix it with sleep - I nap all the fucking time).

So today is my 9th day of feeling like crap again. After almost 3 months of being stable. Which leads me to believe that I'm heading into another episode. I'm trying not to believe that. Hubby is trying to get me not to believe that. My coworkers and friends are trying to get me not to believe that. But secretly? I believe that.

I'm trying to stay positive and counter and crush all of my negative thoughts. I'm trying to remind myself that I was stable and happy before, I can be that way again. I'm trying to stay busy and do things that I usually enjoy doing. I'm reading my positive affirmations. And you know what?

It's not working.

I'm just sort of . . . stuck. I don't know what to do other than ride this out and hope it doesn't last or get worse. What more can I do?

Anyway, happy birthday to me.

6/27/18

This is going to be a bunch of rambling, I apologize for that.

I was supposed to work yesterday, post partum. Monday night when I went to bed I was praying to be put on delayed start as I wasn't sure I'd be able to work. Tuesday morning came and my alarm went off. I hit the snooze but laid awake dreading getting up. I was already feeling bad. But my phone chimed with a text message from the night charge - I was being put on delayed start until 10am. I nearly cried. I went back to bed until 7:30, got up and showered, went downstairs to get break fast and coffee.

At 9:15 I called in to see if I would be needed or redelayed. I got news I didn't want to hear. I was going into work at 11. My heart sank. I wasn't sure I could handle it. Well, no choice now, I'm going into work. I went downstairs to finish a painting I had started Monday and actually finished it. Got ready and left for work.

I felt like crap. Depressed and anxious. I honestly wasn't sure I'd be able to keep up the facade of being okay. I got my assignment, a new c-section and a new vaginal delivery, made sure my rooms were set up, and got report. And it was fine. Everything was fine.

Except that it wasn't.

I felt like I was interacting okay but I wasn't feeling anything. There was nothing there except emptiness. There was just . . . nothing. I felt flat and emotionless. I didn't care. Not about my patients and not about my coworkers. I tried. I tried.

Here's the thing. I tried interacting, and I think I was mostly convincing, but I didn't try too hard.

Wait, what?

Yeah. I didn't try too hard. See, I've been told that I try too hard and in my quest for perfection I end up making things worse. I end up spoiling my mood. Because I'm not going to be perfect. No one is. But I expect myself to be and then when I'm not I make things worse.

So, I tried, but not too hard, and I was mostly convincing although all I felt was empty and flat and withdrawn and depressed and horrible. There were even times I went into the break room and curled up in a ball on the couch because I just couldn't handle how I was feeling. I wanted to curl up in a ball and not exist. But I settled for the couch. Luckily no one walked in on me.

I wanted to cut so bad but I didn't. I'm both proud of myself for that but also upset with myself. Part of me feels I should have just cut and part of me knows that's not an effective coping mechanism. So I'm torn.

 I have therapy today for which I'm thankful because I really fucking need it. I feel like an hour isn't going to be enough time.

Anyway, I really don't know what to do anymore. I can't keep going on like this. I'm not that strong. This damn cloud won't leave me. And I don't. Know what. To do.

I'm Depressed Y'all

Well. It's been almost a full 2 months since I've written anything. I've had things to say, I just haven't said them. I haven't been inspired to write. But today I want to focus on what's bothering me now. And that's depression.

I'm in a trough right now, a deep depression. I don't even really know where to start. So here goes:

It started about 3-3.5 weeks ago, before my last ECT treatment. I started having symptoms of depression. They started out mild and then got worse after ECT (aren't they supposed to get better after ECT? Yeah, I thought so . . .). I kept downplaying them, ignoring them, hiding them. I was alright, this was no big thing. But they were so damn persistent. The negative thoughts became all encompassing, they started to take over. Suicidal thoughts crept in, vying for attention, slowly taking over. I let my hubby know, I let a couple of friends know. Just as a safeguard. Nothing serious, but this is going on, thought you should know. I continued to downplay it. I'd make it through.

Then last Saturday (the 25th) I was at work. And I was really struggling. I was so depressed. I was so empty and lost and withdrawn. My mind was complete chaos - negative thoughts, suicidal thoughts all crashing around, making it hard to concentrate, making it hard to breathe. I tried to keep up the facade. I tried interacting with patients, coworkers. I tried joking around. I tried. And then I lost it. I started crying. I started sobbing really. A coworker saw me and came over to help. She asked what was wrong. "I don't know if you know this," I said. "But I'm bipolar and I'm in a depressive episode and I'm having suicidal thoughts and I want to cut and I don't know what to do." She hugged me and told me to hold on. She went and told the charge nurse who called our manager. The charge nurse came up to me and hugged me and got me to calm down and suggested that I go home for the rest of the day. Even at my worst I've never been sent home. This was a first for me.

My hubby stayed with me the rest of the day. He stayed with me all day Sunday. Monday, I worked again. I wanted to go, I wanted to try. I made it through the day but it was difficult and tiring. I spoke with my manager and let her know what was going on. Tuesday I was home and I didn't get much accomplished. Wednesday I had a mandatory meeting at work which was difficult to sit through. I kept thinking about cutting and dying.

On Thursday I had therapy and I told my therapist everything. All about my suicidal thoughts, my plan, cutting, being sent home, everything. And I narrowly avoided being sent to the hospital for an inpatient psychiatric stay. How did I avoid it you ask? I have an amazing relationship with my therapist and we trust each other. I called my hubby and the 3 of us came up with a safety plan. I also called my psychiatrist's office and sadly learned that he is out of the country until the 11th. So no help there. I see my therapist again on Monday.

Here's the thing: My therapist said it and I'm positive my psychiatrist would say it too. I'm in a bipolar trough. The purpose of my meds and the ECT is to keep me as stable as possible for as long as possible but this is part of the natural ebb and flow of bipolar disorder. I'm going to have ups and downs and hopefully the meds will keep those ups and downs more mild and shorter lasting.

And I get that. I do. But I still call bullshit. It's easy to sit back and say that when you're not the one going through it. But when you're sitting on the floor sobbing, wishing your life would end, you don't care if this is the natural rhythm of your disorder. You just want to feel better. And that's where I'm at. I just want to fucking feel better. I don't want to "ride this out". It's been 3 weeks already. It might be another 3 weeks. Or longer. People keep telling me I'm strong for pulling through this. I don't feel strong. I feel weak. I feel like giving up. I have to deal with this for the rest of my life. And I'm not sure I can do that.

Day 61

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.

Weak

I'm feeling pretty weak, which is pretty fucking annoying. Everyone always tells me how strong I am . . . well, I don't feel that way. I feel like I've been struggling more and more, simple tasks are becoming harder to do.

Example?

Okay. Yesterday I showered, got dressed, and then dried my hair. And after I dried my hair, I had to lay down on the bed for like 20 minutes because I was too overwhelmed to put on my makeup. Then I had to psych myself up to get up and put on makeup. Then hubs and I went out to run errands. Stopped by a few stores, went grocery shopping . . . and I was completely and utterly exhausted. Thank god we were going home to watch football because I wouldn't have been able to handle anything else. Like painting my nails. I painted my nails and almost couldn't handle it.

And there's countless examples recently of my inability to handle shit. Dropping off my son at grandma's house and having hubs walk him in because it's too overwhelming to socialize, requesting to work Christmas eve so that I don't have to go to church because I know I won't make it through the whole service (probably not even half - just thinking about it fills me with so much anxiety it's ridiculous), breaking down at work or becoming so withdrawn people notice something is wrong (I'm a nurse people, this isn't good).

We leave the house to go somewhere and I become anxious - sometimes to the point of panic. Someone stands behind me in line and I get anxious. Certain vehicles driving fill me with anxiety and dread (because I have delusions). I often have to nap during the day because I don't know how I can possibly make it through the day - I'm either anxious or overwhelmed or exhausted or depressed.

None of this leaves me feeling strong. I actually feel weaker than I've ever been. I mean, in the past I've worked, I've plowed on through, I've just done it and now I'm looking into disability. I just, I feel fucking weak. Puny. Pathetic. I can't handle shit.

And I really fucking hate that.