Tuesday 5/31/22 Been a while

 Well hello there. It's actually been a while since I last posted. Weird. I try to write once a week, but I've been . . . distracted. "Distracted" probably isn't the correct word to use, but it works. I've been busy and unmotivated and blah and can hardly be bothered to do anything in my time off. I haven't been painting really, or reading. Or doing anything. Volunteering yes. But nothing else. I just can't seem to get off my butt and participate in life right now. 

I think in my last post (or maybe the one before it) I wrote that it would be awhile for me to have a therapy session. Well, Mike's surgery was pushed back to June 6th so he's making time for me this upcoming Thursday. Which is wonderful. I'll have to miss my afternoon volunteering, but I need to be seen. Having therapy helps. Having someone else to talk to helps. And not having to wait 14 or more weeks between sessions really helps. But I'm almost like, what do I talk about? Because there's nothing going on in my life. Like, nothing. I go to work, I volunteer, I eat, sleep, stare off into space. There's nothing. I'm not having as many "bad" days. Days where I'm close to crying and feeling depressed. Most of my days are nothingness. I'm just floating along through life, participating minimally, flat and blah and pretending that I'm okay. I'm good at pretending. I have no motivation to do anything that I normally enjoy. I have no motivation to work out. I have no motivation to try. 

Work is a chore and is bringing me anxiety. I don't want to go. I feel like I need some time off. Just to be away. There's some changes going on that are probably going to be not good. A new staffing grid. They want us working more short staffed. I've had some difficult days recently and this new grid is going to make things worse. Especially for us transition nursery nurses. We'll have no help but be expected to do more. It makes me anxious. If I could muster up any real feelings I'd be pissed. But I have nothing to muster up, except anxiety. And I can't change what they're doing, none of us can. So I fall into apathy and "why bother". Our manager is begging us to trust her, that this will work, and I can't seem to care. I just go in and do my job, try to keep the anxiety at bay, keep my head down and plug along. But it's exhausting. Because I have to keep up appearances that I'm A-okay. I have to be pleasant and upbeat with families. I have to try and connect. Even though all I want to do is hide. 

Volunteering - at least Thursdays - are an escape for me. I get to be with horses and hopefully feel like I'm making a difference. I still have to keep up appearances and participate and be upbeat. Which is hard, despite being with horses. I say that I enjoy my volunteer work, that I love it, that I'm getting something out of it. When, in reality, I'm just there. I'm just going through the motions. Don't get me wrong - it does help. I do feel better after a day of being out in the sun with horses. But it doesn't help as much as I think it should. And again I'm pretending. I don't want the powers that be or other volunteers to know that I'm struggling. So I pretend and tell myself I'm doing good for others and that I enjoy it, even when I don't feel it. What a crappy way to be.

As far as artwork and reading and stuff goes . . . well, I'm not doing it. I did a couple of simple paintings like a week and a half ago and that's all I've done. I can't concentrate long enough to read anything and I don't feel like doing any artwork. I have no motivation or inspiration. Every once in a while I'll get a little spark. A little idea. But then I try and expand on it, to make up a composition for a painting, and it falls flat. Or dies completely. I just don't have it in me to create right now. Not even vent art. Not even simple scribbles or colors. There's nothing there. Nothing. 

This is my life right now. Nothing. Float along, go through the motions, feeling nothing, feeling empty. And I hate it. And what's bad too is that I don't want to do anything. Or go anywhere. I don't get joy or satisfaction out of anything so why do it? Why go there? Why try? 

So yeah. Flat, empty, nothing. This is me. And I'm sick of it.  

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.  

Friday 4/22/22 Blah

 It's warm today, like 75 degrees, but windy as all get out. I have the back door open so my dog Moya can go in and out as she pleases and the wind keeps blowing the screen door shut. Moya is not pleased by this. It's been windy every day for a couple of weeks now and I'm over it. So freaking tired of the wind. At least it's not cold as well.

Yesterday I spent the day out at Norris Penrose. All day in the sun and wind. It was warm yesterday too - warm enough I didn't need my hoodie or anything. The people in the morning session (9 of them) weren't as engaged as they were last week. This week we were focusing on mindfulness and several people couldn't stand being quiet with their thoughts. I can appreciate this as when I'm in a dark place I don't want to be alone with my thoughts, either. And the horses were all being butt heads. We went on a walk through the trails to a horse obstacle course and the horses didn't really want anything to do with it. It's a good exercise for the participants in being mindful and present - if you're not present your horse isn't going to listen to you. The afternoon group was more engaged, the horses were more cooperative, and I think it was a great learning experience for all. 

In between the two groups I got to "long rein" a horse, Thumper (who is sweet as can be). Imagine a carriage being pulled by a horse, but I'm the "carriage" walking behind the horse, directing him with a pair of long reins. It's pretty darn cool and fun! Thumper was a good boy for me. The other horse was a bit of a butt and wanted to eat poop instead of walk nicely. It was so fun though!

As of late I've just been really blah. Just kind of empty. The only time I really feel okay is when I'm working with the horses. Then I feel okay. Yesterday morning I woke up feeling down and all I wanted to do was go back to bed. Sleep. All day. But I went and worked with the horses and felt so much better. It was the same this past Tuesday when I went out to Latigo for my volunteering. Blah and a little down all day, better after being with the horses. They really are therapeutic for me. And knowing that I'm helping other people out by being there. That helps too. Otherwise, yeah. Just blah. 

I'm so tired of feeling this way. I'm so tired of trying so hard to be okay. I'm so tired of pretending, putting on a show that everything is better. I feel better during and after working with the horses, but before - whether it's days of hours before - I'm a husk. Going through the motions. After being with the horses I think, hey, maybe I'm coming out of this depression. But then the next morning I wake up blah and empty and unmotivated. I'm not sure what more to do. And in May there are a couple of Thursdays that I'll miss because I'm working and no one will switch days with me. May 5th and the 19th. I'm not looking forward to missing these days. It makes me anxious. Stupid, I know. But I can't help it. 

Anyway, I did an ink drawing that I really like:

It's called "Bliss". And bliss is truly what I feel when I'm with the horses. It's my escape from myself. 

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. 

Tuesday 2/15/22

 Yesterday was Valentine's day. Jer and I never do anything for Valentine's day - I'm not sure we ever have (we've been together for 22 years). And, per our usual, we didn't do anything this year either. I worked yesterday and it was rather busy. 

Lately, my mood has been very blah. I don't even really feel depressed, per se, but just empty and meh, and blah, and flat. No real emotion. I'm just existing. Going through the motions. No joy, no happiness, no contentment . . . but also no feeling really down or dark or "sad". I'm floating around in this grey area, unable to see color but not experiencing the dark. Maybe this is a good thing? Maybe it means I'm coming out of the depression and into the light? Maybe this is a necessary stepping stone on the path to getting better? I have no idea. All I know is that I don't like it. Being in a grey fog, unable to feel, is not my idea of fun. But I don't know what to do. Keep muddling along, hoping I eventually get better? See my psychiatrist for a potential med change? (I don't know what we'd do for a med change - I've been on 23 different meds). I have no idea. 

For now, I guess I'll keep muddling along. I don't really have a choice - this isn't something you can just "snap out" of (although I wish I could). 

. . . man this is a short post. I guess I don't feel like writing today.

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. 

Wednesday 12/29/21 Again With The Coffee!

 It's morning. I'm drinking my coffee and wondering what the heck I should write about. How I'm doing - of course - that's a given. But what else? There's nothing exciting going on in my life. Rather, I'm just floating along, trying desperately to keep my head above the turbulent waters. 

The days that I work are becoming more and more difficult. I'm having a really hard time interacting and keeping up the façade that everything is okay. It's been stupidly busy and I manage to work all my shifts and not get called off (I'd like to get called off here and there). I thought about calling in sick this upcoming Friday but it's New Year's Eve and I would feel like an asshole doing that. If it was a regular Friday I would. I hate being at work and feeling so awful. I want to be alone, I don't want to interact. But then people start asking questions as to why I'm so quiet. Not everyone needs to know I'm depressed. 

I'm feeling more and more empty. More and more flat and withdrawn and down and distant. More and more like a hollow shell of who I'm supposed to be. I hate it. I don't want to be back to this but here we are. The only upside to this is that I still don't have an appetite so I'm losing weight. And I've been able to work out consistently. But I'd much rather feel like myself and not be depressed. 

Early Monday morning, like, 0400, I had a hallucination. The first hallucination I've had in years. I was wide awake in bed and rolled over as I was going to get up to use the bathroom. There was a dark figure standing next to me with its arm outstretched over me. It startled me, to say the least. It dissipated, which is when I realized that I was hallucinating. Hubby thought that maybe I was dreaming, but no, I was quite awake when it happened. And it wasn't a shadow - it was solid. So yeah. A hallucination after several years of being free from them. I haven't had one since, for which I am grateful. Hopefully I won't have any more.  

Tuesday 12/7/21 Shit's Getting Real

 Why is shit getting real? Well, yesterday I texted my therapist and made an appointment with him. I haven't seen him in about a year because I had been doing so well. And now . . . I'm not. Luckily he had an opening this Thursday - I was thinking I might have to wait a couple of weeks. So glad I don't have to. 

You may be thinking, "why is it such a big deal that you made an appointment with your therapist?? You saw him consistently for over 8 years!!" And yeah, you're right. Why is it such a big deal? Mainly because I feel like a failure now. Because I can't do this on my own. I need help. I was so proud of myself for doing so well, stopping therapy, going off of Lithium, going back to working full time . . . and now? Now I need help again. I need to see my therapist again. I had to increase the dose of my Wellbutrin. And it makes me feel like a failure which doesn't help the depression at all. 

I worked yesterday, on mom/baby, and it was busy. But the day dragged on and on and on. I honestly didn't think I was going to make it through the shift because I felt so low. Well, low isn't necessarily the right word. Anhedonic is. I was so flat and withdrawn and unfeeling that it physically hurt. All I wanted to do was curl into a ball and not exist. I tried interacting with coworkers. I tried really hard with my patients to engage and joke and laugh . . . but everything fell flat. Everything was fake. I often just stared off into space. My bestie was charge nurse yesterday and I could hardly even say anything to her. There was nothing to say. I was so withdrawn I couldn't come up with any conversation starters. The anhedonia is awful. To feel nothing. I couldn't even feel anger or sadness . . . it's just . . . nothing. I didn't care about anything. I don't care. It's like I'm incapable of having feelings right now. And I don't know how to describe how horrible that is. To not feel.

Today I'm feeling more of the same. Flat, empty, withdrawn. I made a list of things I wanted to get done today. Little things. Things that would be easy to check off. I got on my spin bike for 15 minutes, hoping the endorphins of working out would help. It didn't. I showered and shaved my legs. I cut and filed my nails. I started a load of laundry. I still have to go to the post office - and I will - but later. Little things to get done to try and help my mood. I even put on makeup because I was hoping I'd feel better about myself. I don't. And as I'm typing all of this out, reading through it, it should make me feel sad. Or at least feel something. But I'm too empty. There's nothing there. 

I'm considering calling in sick tomorrow. I don't want to leave my coworkers high and dry, but I don't want a repeat of yesterday. We're already short at least one person tomorrow so if I call in sick we'll be really short. Ugh. What to do. I'm sure I'll end up working because of the guilt of calling in sick. That guilt will just make everything worse. And who knows - maybe having to interact with people will help. I doubt it, but we'll see. 

I really hate bipolar disorder. I'd kick it in the junk if I could. 

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. 

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.

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.
 

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 5/25/20 Memorial Day

It's Memorial Day and I'm actually off. Which is nice, except it means I'll probably be working the 4th of July. That's okay though - I don't need that day off anymore (I wanted it off for the Denver Pop Culture Con, but that has been rescheduled for November - Thanksgiving weekend, of course *obvious eye roll*). But anyway, I'm off and my mother-in-law and brother-in-law are coming over for dinner. We're grilling. Burgers and hot dogs cause we're cheap and lazy :)

I've been dealing with the steady erosion of self. I've been feeling pretty badly. My usual: empty, depressed, hollow, numb, hopeless, pointless . . . you get the idea. All the bad stuff. It's been pretty relentless. I've cut twice. I might do it more. I struggle at work. I struggle at home. I wake up in the morning only looking forward to bed. In short, it sucks.

I don't have therapy again until June 4th. At my last session M told me to call if I need to be seen sooner (since we were going 3 and a half weeks between sessions). Well, yeah, I need to be seen sooner. I mean, I feel that way for sure. But have I called him? No. No I haven't.

Why the hell not?? You need him, call him!

Sounds easy, right? Well, for me it's not. I haven't called him because I don't want to be a burden. That's how I feel right now, like I'm a burden on everyone. And I hate feeling like that. But that's what I am -  a burden. I'm having to do maintenance TMS - which is $200 a pop. That makes me a financial burden. I'm not pulling my weight with the housework. Burden. I'm relying on hubby emotionally so much right now. Burden.

Trust me - I know this is the depression talking. But it's putting up a strong argument. One that I have no retort to.

So no, I haven't called M because I don't want to be a burden to him too. I feel that he needs this break from me because I'm so annoying and a drain.

So I don't know what to do. Well, that's a lie. Because I know what I'm going to do. I'm going to wait until my scheduled appointment. So that I'm less of a burden and don't feel so crappy about myself.

I'm truly thinking I need a medication tweak. I don't see my psychiatrist until June 9th, of course. And, quite honestly, I'm dreading seeing him. See, I don't think he'll adjust my meds. I think all he's going to do is suggest ECT again, which I absolutely won't do. I think he's kinda done with me. I think he's given up on me. And that hurts. I don't want to have to find another psychiatrist. And I mean, I like Dr. M, I just think he's truly given up on me. Don't ask me why I feel that way, I don't know why. It's probably the depression talking. Again, depression puts up a compelling argument.

So anyway, yeah, I'm a mess right now. So much negative self talk that I can't seem to counter or squelch. I'll get there though, right? I mean, I have to, because I can't keep doing this. 

Wednesday 5/13/20 Okay brain, you win

So remember on Monday I wrote that things were "looking up"? Ha ha ha! Oh MAN!! That was funny! A real knee slapper!

Cause, well, things are back to square one. Or, more accurately, worse than square one.

But, how? You said you were feeling better! For like 3 days!

Yes, that's right. I was. But by Monday afternoon my mood was starting to slide again. I was starting to feel empty, numb and down. I felt that way all day yesterday. And then today came. And today has sucked.

It's 1346 as I write this and I have broken down sobbing 4 times now (I've only been awake for 5 hours people). Here's the thing though: I'm used to feeling empty and numb and down and now I'm feeling ALL THE THINGS. Despair, loneliness, sadness, ANGER, hopelessness, anxiety . . . all the bad things, I'm feeling them all. Intensified negative emotions. If I'm not crying over something I'm trying desperately to keep myself from screaming, cussing, and throwing shit. My emotions are moving so fast I'm getting physically nauseous. I've had to lay down several times I was so sick to my stomach.

I was texting my hubby when I remembered something: when I started TMS Dr. F told me that I would start to get worse before I got better. That most people would start to feel more (mostly negative) emotions and would think that this was a sign they were getting worse. He told me to keep going as it was really a sign that TMS was working and I was getting better. Hubby remembers this too. I'm praying that this is what's going on right now. That I'm feeling worse but getting better. I have TMS again on the 18th.

Today has been a roller coaster ride from hell. I've managed to do a drawing, do laundry, and get dinner in the crock pot. That's it. I was going to do so much more. I was going to workout, paint some sparrows, clean the kitchen, and go for a walk. None of that got done thanks to my violent, negative mood swings. I'm hoping tomorrow is better. And Friday better still. I work Saturday and I can't be at work like this. I won't be able to function. So you hear that brain? You better get your shit together.

Tuesday 5/5/20 Cinco de Mayo

Well, it's Cinco de Mayo and Taco Tuesday on the same day! How fun is that? Answer: not really all that fun. At least not in quarantine. Maybe if restaurants were open . . .

Yesterday would have been my normal day for therapy but my therapist and I decided to go 2 weeks this go around. So I don't see him until next Monday. Which actually kind of sucks because I could sure use a vent session. I'm not doing great.

I'm at the point where I'm not really suicidal but I wouldn't mind if I ceased to exist. It's not a good place to be. Everything just seems so pointless and stupid. There's no reason for anything. I hate feeling like this. Especially because suicidal ideation usually isn't far behind. I'm trying to come up with things to help.

I was supposed to work today but I was put on call and then released, so no work for me today. Which is a blessing in disguise. I was dreading work today because I felt so badly yesterday. So I did something with my time: I drew 8 pictures of sparrows. I still need to paint them, but I figure I can do that tomorrow or Friday (drawing them today was as much as I could handle). But that's productive, yeah? And I love sparrows, they represent hope to me. So I actually accomplished something. And that's good!

Except I feel that it was all for naught. Why? Because everything is pointless to me. What's the point in painting the sparrows? What does it accomplish? Do I feel better? (No, no I don't). I feel overwhelmed actually because now I have to paint them.

This pointlessness is killing me. I don't know what to do about it. Positive thinking, countering my thinking, isn't making a dent at all. Right now I'm just stubbornly pushing through. It seems it's all I can do. This is why therapy would have been nice. Maybe get a suggestion or two on how to battle my fucked up mind.

I just want to nap. It's all I ever really want to do anymore. I hate that. It's not constructive. It's counterproductive. It's hiding. But it's all I want to do, and sometimes all I can do. I'll get through this, I keep telling myself that. Depression lies. I've been a lot worse in the past and I made it through. I'll make it through again. 

Monday 4/27/20 Therapy and Work

This is one of those times where I want to write, need to write, but I don't know what to say. My brain is completely jumbled right now - it's a mess. So many thoughts. Most of them don't even make any sense. But I'm going to try and write a coherent post.

I had therapy today. Actually, I just got home from therapy. Almost the entire session centered on my depression and anxiety. Mostly my depression though. I've been getting progressively more and more depressed. More and more empty. More and more lost. I focused on Saturday as an example.

I worked Saturday. When I got up that morning to shower I could just feel it was going to be a difficult day. I already felt terribly down and empty. I tried talking up the day, knowing there were only 2 inductions, it's a Saturday - it shouldn't be busy, it'll be a good day!

I almost had myself convinced.

I went out to my truck to leave for work and there was a light layer of frost on my windshield. I almost lost it. My eyes welled up with tears and I nearly sat down in the driveway and cried. Over frost. Instead, I sucked it up, scraped my windshield and drove to work. Little did I know that would be my theme of the day.

I started off the day with a c-section - not how I like to start off my mornings, but hey, it is what it is. I felt that familiar feeling of needing to cry and shook it off. I did the c-section, admit, and charted, the whole time feeling like I was going to lose it. Spoiler alert - I didn't.

I had lunch and did another delivery when I felt something else, something different. The need to cut. When I feel empty and devoid of real feelings I get the desire to cut. Because when I cut I can at least feel something - even if that something is pain. It gives me a fleeting sense of belonging almost. I don't know how to describe it. I wanted to cut, badly.

So I texted my hubby and let him know what was going on. He talked with me for a bit and suggested I draw on myself, particularly butterflies (because of the Butterfly Project - a movement for those who self harm to draw butterflies on themselves instead of cutting). I had heard of it before but never put much clout into it.

Well, I tried it. And it helped. Briefly. But briefly was all I needed in the moment to keep from cutting. I ended up with four butterflies on my arm. Now, I still wanted to cut, I was just able to not do it. So I'll count that as a win.

The day went on and I continued to feel empty and hopeless and depressed. I put on a facade for those around me, which was difficult to do. But I did it anyway. By the time I left work I was exhausted. Not because it was busy - I only did 3 deliveries - but because of my flailing mental health.

Feeling like I'm going to constantly break down has been my MO as of late. I feel like this every day, coupled with the emptiness, hopelessness, and exhaustion. In therapy we discussed coping mechanisms and what I've done that has and hasn't helped. The only thing I can do is power through - it's all I know how to do.

Today I'll be helping my hubby build a shed. Not what I want to do today but it needs to be done. And it'll give me time with him and time out in the sun doing manual labor and that's good for the soul, right? At least that's what I'm telling myself. In all honestly I'd like to go back to bed.

Saturday 4/18/20 Am I Enough

I just kinda feel compelled to write right now. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I've been pouring over old blog posts looking for fodder for my book. Yes, I'm working on writing a book. I actually started it several years ago and didn't get very far with it. Well, I'm revisiting it with some fresh ideas and hoping to actually get it fleshed out. So yeah - I've been working on it for 4 hours now. Go me!

But I don't think that's what I really wanted to write about. No, I think not.

What is it then?

This horrible feeling of emptiness I can't seem to shake. That's what I want to write about. See, I can't seem to get rid of it. I feel so empty right now. I'm not really feeling anything. No good, not even anything really bad. Though when I do feel, it tends to be bad. I'm just existing. Barely. Everything around me is so thick and grey and oppressing. It's sludge. There's no color, no life.

I'm nothing.

I'm stuck.

I don't like feeling like this. This apathy. This anhedonia. Things that I enjoy? Like reading and painting? I don't enjoy anymore. I force myself to try . . . most often leading to failure which makes me feel worse.

I have therapy on Monday morning and I'm a little bit worried. See, I'm depressed, but am I depressed enough?  And what, exactly, do I mean by that? See, people don't seem to care unless you're depressed enough. Suicidal enough. Manic enough. Who says it's enough? Hell if I know, but it seems to be a common thread. I'm mainly flat, withdrawn, down, and empty. Is that enough? I'm not suicidal, I'm not breaking down all the time, I'm still able to work. So, am I enough?

I'm worried that during therapy I won't be able to carry enough weight of the conversation. Because my depression is all I have to talk about. And I'm not horrible. And I know what I'm supposed to be doing and I'm doing those things. All those coping mechanisms form CBT and DBT that I learned so long ago . . . I do all those things. What more am I going to learn in therapy on Monday? That's what worries me. That I'm not enough for therapy, even though it's always been helpful to me.

I don't know why I'm so worried about this. But it's tearing me up inside, which is stupid, I know. I can't help it though. I mean come on - I'm tearing up as I type this. How stupid is that?

I just know that I'm tired of feeling like this. I know I can feel so much better - I've been there. I just need to figure out how to get back there.

Monday 3/30/20

Another week since my last post, and two therapy sessions under my belt: one last Thursday and one today. Thursday's session was face timed, today was in person, which both M and I prefer. Why such frequent sessions? Well, because I'm falling apart, truthfully.

It's hard for me to describe how I feel right now. I'm nothingness. I'm empty, hollow, withdrawn, flat, fake, a husk . . . This is all more apparent when I'm at work. I'm distancing myself from people (and not just because of coronavirus, lol). No, I'm distancing myself because it takes too much out of me to interact with people. It feels like everything I do or say is a facade. My smiles and chuckles are not genuine. I'm putting up a front, putting out there what people want to see.

But that's not me.

I feel so alone and helpless and small. I'm just so empty. The only feelings I can seem to muster up are negative ones. I'm struggling to even find neutrality. It's so hard . . . feeling so empty and pretending to be happy, or even just okay.

I'm scared, too. Of a lot of things right now. I'm scared of the current state of the world. I'm scared at work - of being exposed, of having to float to another unit. I'm scared of my own mind - I know how dark it can get in there.

Things seem bleak right now.

M helped me today to see the good, see the light. I don't know if it's too little too late. My mind is already a snarled tomb of negativity.

I'm trying though. I'm trying. I'm writing this out, I'll go on a walk today, maybe I'll even draw (I don't know what - I have no motivation or inspiration, but maybe). M wants me to work on my book. I looked through my writing for my book and realized I haven't worked on it for two years. Two years. Holy cow. I wouldn't even know where to start, how to start. With a single word, I guess. That's what M says.

So here I sit, depressed as hell, whining on the internet, not being positive at all. I should really change that. All of that. 

Monday 1/27/2020

Hey there.

How's it going?

It would appear that my, uh, black cloud is back. Trying to take over. Envelop me with darkness. It's there, hovering, waiting for the right moment to strike. It could be any moment, I feel it. It's unrelenting.

I've been so close to breaking down. Several times a day. Every day. So close. My eyes fill with tears, full to the brim, but they don't spill over. There I sit, feeling the world crashing down around me, so ready to lose it, and then . . . nothing. The tears . . . they go. I don't know where because they're certainly not spilling down my cheeks. I sit there feeling so defeated and so empty and so . . . gyped because I didn't get that release. That emotional release that comes with crying. I don't get that. So I'm full of bad things. I'm full of emptiness - how can that be? I feel lost and confused and let down and angry, so angry! Why can't I cry??

I haven't been able to cry since I did TMS. Five months.

Granted, I haven't really needed to cry. I've been stable. Until recently. Until my black cloud started coming back around.

And now . . . now I can't cry.

When I'm not close to breaking down I feel flat. I feel meh. I just am. I'm not as quick to laugh. I get angry more often, and at stupid little things. I don't want to do anything. When I'm home alone by myself all I want to do is sleep. Sleep to escape. Need something to pass the time? Sleep. I have no motivation for anything. And I mean anything. Drawing, painting, reading, Spanish . . . I don't want to do any of it. I just want to sleep.

And I hate this. So much. I hate my black cloud. I keep thinking . . . if I could just cry. If I could just get that relief  I would feel better. Do I know I would feel better? No. Of course not. But I think it would be better than having everything bottled up.

So now I'm stuck in this no man's land. Feeling empty and flat normally . . . anhedonic. And, well, feeling worse. But unable to express it.

Why not hypomania? Why not that? Just a little. Just a little . . .