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. 

Tuesday 5/19/20 Um, yeah

It's been almost a week since my last post and I'm glad to say I'm not doing as bad as I was then. I was in a very bad state last Wednesday. I mean, I begged my hubby to get me a box cutter so I could cut myself (he said no, of course). But I was scary bad.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not doing great. I'm still feeling empty and down and numb and hopeless and pointless. I'm back to being almost emotionless. I start to feel like I'm going to cry and there's nothing behind it - no emotion - so I can't. I can't cry now because there's nothing there. I smile and laugh and joke but there's nothing there. It's all faked. The only true emotion I'm feeling is anger. That emotion isn't faked. It's there, burning hot. Anger over little things, big things, no things . . . It's the only thing I can genuinely feel.

And I hate it.

I hate only feeling anger. I look at my hubby and son and I should feel warmth and love and contentment. I feel nothing. I love them more than life itself and I feel nothing. You have no idea how much this sucks. How much it hurts. How much it fuels my anger. I don't need more help fueling my anger.

*exasperated sigh*

I had TMS again yesterday, making that two times this month. I'm praying so hard that it helps. I need it to help. Because I can't keep doing what I'm doing. It's no way to live. Honestly, I'm not living - I'm surviving. Living day to day because more than a single day is too much to bear, looking for little shreds of hope to hold onto to get me by.

I don't want to continue to do this.

Monday 4/20/20 Therapy

I just finished therapy via telemedicine (we're still in quarantine due to corona virus). This was a tough one. I started by showing M my latest vent drawing and reading him my last blog post. Reading that blog post was actually difficult and I started to tear up.

And it left M speechless.

He stared at me, a very somber look on his face, and asked if I needed to go to the hospital. No, no I do not. Are you sure, he asked. Yes, I'm sure. Even just for respite? I told him I would rather be with my hubby and son. He nodded and said okay.

I told him about how empty I've been feeling, how devoid of feeling, how bad. I started crying. I didn't think I would, but I did. I didn't lose it, I didn't sob. Just sort of silently cried. Just for a moment or two. It felt good and it felt awful. Necessary.

We talked at length about my lack of emotion and ways to counteract it. We picked objects and ascribed feeling and meaning to them, hoping that by doing this I would feel something too. We started with the wedding photos and family photos in my bedroom. Photos that should mean something to me. Right now, however, I get no feeling from them. I can identify feelings I should have . . . but I don't feel them.

We did this with several more objects, assigning feelings and meaning to them, and each time I couldn't actually feel what I was "supposed" to. So my homework is to do this daily throughout the week so that maybe, hopefully, I'll start to feel.

Being empty, not feeling, is horrible. And difficult. It's hard to interact with people when you aren't sure what you should be feeling. Luckily for me I've been doing this my whole life. Hiding my depression behind a well crafted facade. Now I hide my lack of feeling. It's not easy, but I can do it.

I work Thursday and Saturday this week, both days in trans. I'm wondering how I'll do. When I get overwhelmed my anger and anxiety has been surfacing. I'm hoping for calm days. Easy days. Days where I don't have to wear my mask so much. Because wearing a mask, keeping up my facade, is tiring.

And I'm already tired. 

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 7/8/19

I was supposed to have therapy today. At noon. But my therapist forgot, somehow, and I didn't get to have my session. I sat in the waiting room with no receptionist, classical music blaring, until 12:36 - the time that I called my therapist, M, and left him a message that I had been there, apparently there was a miscommunication of sorts, and that I was leaving. I asked him to call me back so we could reschedule.

And I left.

And I didn't realize how much I needed therapy today until I didn't have it. I didn't realize how much I was struggling and needed to talk until I left M's office in tears. The slightest mishap breaking me down.

All I want to do anymore is sleep. I wake up looking forward to bedtime and that's it. I nap every day I don't work so that I can escape reality and my crummy feelings. Because sleep is like death without the commitment. It's my only escape.

I'm starting the process to be "approved" for TMS. I talked to D today and she sent me the paperwork I need to fill out and turn in. This causes a problem for me. It makes all my self-doubt, self-hate and self-worth issues scream even louder. I can't hum to myself and ignore the cacophony. No, I'm bombarded with a level of self loathing you can't even imagine, which brings my mood down even lower than before.

Why is this? Why don't I feel worthy of treatment? I know that I'm scared. Scared of what stable and well will look like. I've always been scared of that. When you've lived your entire life with depression . . . well, remission is terrifying. Is this why I don't feel worthy?

I'm also scared that I'll fail, that treatment won't work for me. And where will I be then? Because I can't keep living like this. I can't. This is no way to live.

Hubby has this grand plan that I'll start TMS, I'll get back in the gym, and I'll get better and lose weight and everything will be all hunky-dory. And I'm scared that I'll fail him. I don't even deserve treatment, let alone having it work well for me. I'm worried it won't work. That I won't get back in the gym. That I won't get better and/or lose weight.

I'm worried that everything will fall to pieces and I'll be left worse off than I am now because I will have lost my only shred of hope.

Damn I wish I could have had therapy today.

M did call me back, by the way, and apologized. He said I could smack him. And I might take him up on that because I have to wait another week to see him.

In the meantime I guess I keep plugging through, picking myself up by the boot straps. I just wish I knew how to keep doing that.

6/7/19

It doesn't matter why. That's what I've decided. Did you read my last post? Maybe you should. See, I've been depressed since then (May 17th). And it doesn't really matter why. I don't think there's a reason anyway except my bipolar. No trigger, no cause. Just my brain being a bag of dicks.

I'm depressed. I'm empty. I'm hollow. I'm fake. I'm down, defeated, hopeless, and overwhelmed. I'm nothing.

All of the things and none of the things.

I feel I'm getting worse. Slowly but surely getting worse.

I went to the doctor on Wednesday (the 5th). On top of the depression I've been having dizzy/lightheaded spells and tremors in my hands and right leg. Fun right? Fucking laugh riot, let me tell ya. She truly believes that it is my lithium. That I'm having withdrawal symptoms (I'm subtherapeutic right now) and that I need to increase my dose. But to be safe I had an EKG, orthostatic blood pressures, a ton of blood work, and I get to wear a heart monitor for a month (no, not something like a FitBit - I have electrodes that attach to my chest and connect to a box with a button I push every time I have symptoms). And she wanted me to see my Pdoc ASAP. I already had an appointment with him on the 27th, but she wants me in sooner. Earliest I could get in is the 17th. That way we can discuss my depression and lithium.

I'm so tired right now. Not physically tired. Mentally. Emotionally tired. All I want to do is sleep to escape reality. See, sleep is like death but without the commitment. I don't have to deal with my feelings (or lack there of) while I'm asleep. And I've been sleeping more. Napping. Trying to stay in bed as late as I can in the mornings.

Withdrawing. I'm not interacting as much as I normally do. Some coworkers have noticed.

I'm trying. Fake it till ya make it, right? But it's getting hard anymore. It drains me so much. But still I try because what else am I going to do?

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.

12/7/18

Well hello there. There's not much new going on here. Our offer was accepted on the house and we're officially under contract. The inspection was yesterday and while it wasn't bad, it also wasn't great (and that's got me worried - what if we lose the house over it??). But we'll just have to see how it goes, right?

Mood wise . . . well . . . I'm not sure I really know. I've still been empty and hollow and flat and a husk. Any feelings I do have are muted. Stunted. I'm still pretending, pretending that I'm okay, that everything is alright. I'm putting on that mask, that facade for everyone. I think people are none the wiser. I don't think they suspect that I'm not doing well. I even put on the facade during therapy this week. I don't know why really. Maybe it was just habit. Maybe I wasn't in the mood to talk about my emotions. Maybe it was too hard. Maybe it was all of the above.

Today has been a rough day. I've managed to clean a little, do some laundry, and do a painting. All while fighting back tears. Let's be honest though, it's not terribly hard to fight back the tears. Why? Because there's no emotion behind them. I'm an empty husk, remember? But they're there none the less, threatening to come. And it's frustrating, really. Like, maybe if I could just cry I'd feel better.

At least I'm managing. I mean, I'm able to work. I kind of keep up the house. I've been painting - I took 2 custom orders. So I've been managing. Which means I don't have to be hospitalized. It's been almost a year since my last hospitalization - I don't want to go back.

I'm still having suicidal thoughts. Every. Single. Day. Even though I have good things going for me. Even though I'm managing. I'm still having those thoughts. I hate them. I wish they would go away. But I don't see that happening any time soon. Maybe the one doctor I fired was right - I'm going to be depressed and suicidal for the rest of my life and I need to learn how to deal with it. Now if that's not a depressing thought I don't know what is.

So anyway, there's where I'm at. Yep. 

11/30/18

I can't believe tomorrow is December. It's come up so fast. Christmas and then New Year's . . . man. I'm hoping 2019 will see us as home owners again. There's a good chance it will. Even so, I'm trying not to get my hopes up. We'll just have to see where the cards fall.

Yesterday and today have been especially dark. And it's weird because I wouldn't necessarily call myself "depressed". I don't really have the stereotypical symptoms of depression. So what am I feeling?

A whole lot of  nothing. I feel so empty. Numb. Flat. I constantly feel on the verge of crying but I can't because there's no emotion behind it. I'm indifferent to everything. I don't care. I hate feeling like this. It's just as bad, if not worse, than feeling depressed. I'm just this husk, this shell of a person. It's no way to be.

I've been pretending that I'm okay, that I'm doing better, because I think people are tired of me not doing well. My illness is hard on other people too - especially hubby and son. So I've been pretending and I think I've gotten pretty good at it again. My coworkers seem to think that I'm doing good. But if they just saw the vacant stare . . . or picked up on how quiet I am . . .

I have therapy next Wednesday. It's been 3 weeks and I'm looking forward to a session. I need one. Three weeks is the longest I've gone in awhile. But I've been managing. Pretending. Going about my life like I'm an actual, feeling adult.

I want this to stop. I want to actually feel. Even if it's bad feelings. At least that's something.

11/29/18

It's been awhile since I've written . . . 13 days or so. I have things I want to say and I can't seem to get them out. I can't seem to form a coherent thought. Which is so frustrating it's not even funny. So this is just a quick note to say that I'm still here, and I'm still struggling. I haven't been necessarily feeling outright depressed, but more empty. Empty is not fun. It's no place to be. I don't feel anything.

That's not entirely true. I feel anger and anxiety. Those two emotions are ever present.

I've gotten better again at faking happiness, so that people are none the wiser as to what's really going on. But it's hard not to feel. I don't like it.