Monday 9/7/20 Labor Day

 Anger. I haz it. Big time. Anger, annoyance, irritability, RAGE, frustration. It's all there. Taking over. Making me miserable. Making everyone around me miserable. I don't know what's up. But man has it been rough the past several days. 

I'm not sure what triggered this anger. It seemingly came out of nowhere. And it's quite evident. I'm not hiding it well. I'm taking things too personally, getting hurt at the slightest comment. It's stupid, honestly. And I hate it. I fucking hate it. Everything is setting me off it seems. 

Why?

I really have no bloody idea. I've tried doing a root cause analysis to no avail. Since it's so varied as to what sets me off . . . there's no pattern. There's no reason. I'm worried it's because I'm off of my lithium. I've been off of it for almost a full 3 weeks. Withdrawals? I don't know. It doesn't seem likely . . . but . . . there's always a chance I guess. 

What else . . . that time of the month? HA! That's rich. No, I haven't had hormonal mood swings since having my hysterectomy 11 years ago. So I wouldn't think that's it. Maybe a build up of everything going on? I'm talking about 2020. You know - covid, riots, lock down, a progressively more and more drunk mother (who annoys the ever living FUCK out of me), root canal, jaw pain, trouble peeing . . . (I haven't mentioned that last one before; I'm totally having trouble peeing - initiating a stream, emptying my bladder, etc, it's pretty awesome and by awesome I mean seriously what the fuck body can't you do anything right??). 

So yeah. That's where I'm at. Angry. Frustrated. And trying desperately not to be. But I'm really having trouble containing it. AND, just for fun, I keep getting these existential crisis moments where I question what the hell is the point of living and my mood drops. I've been somewhat okay at countering these moments but damn, really? Do I really need this too?

The answer is no. No I don't. But my stupid brain insists that this is necessary. If I could, I'd stab my brain with a fork. 

I really wish I had therapy sooner than the 24th. Ugh.

In other news, I cut my hair. Again. It's short, y'all. Like, too short I think. I'm not really digging it. Everyone keeps telling me how cute it is and that it suits me, blah blah blah, but I don't know. I'm really self conscious about it and I've only had it cut for 2 days. Hubby made jokes about me having the same hairstyle as him. Ha ha ha fuck you. Not funny when I'm kinda fragile right now. I know this is fueling my anger. Feeling crap about myself isn't good for anything. Except feeling like crap. Oh well, it'll grow I guess. Slowly. Excruciatingly slowly. 

Anyway, that's what's going on. Anger and existential crises and a bad haircut. WTF.    

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.

Wednesday 4/29/20

I tried this morning. I really did. I got up early, had breakfast and coffee, got ready . . . I even put on makeup and real clothes (as opposed to just gym attire). I went downstairs to my happy place (my studio) to draw and paint. I was even able to get 2 sketches done before lunch and ink one of them after lunch. I did a load of laundry and put it away.

I tried.

So why then am I feeling so crappy? Why am I still so empty and depressed, feeling close to tears almost constantly? Why?

The obvious answer, of course, is that I'm bipolar and I'm in a depressive episode. There's no doubt about that.

I guess I was just hoping some positive self care would tip me over into the feeling good category.

But I guess I'm not so lucky.



In other news, I work tomorrow and I'm worried about it. I was supposed to work yesterday and I was called off - for which I'm thankful of. I've been feeling even worse at work. Having a hard time coping and wanting to cut. I've been withdrawing at work and I think people are starting to notice. All I want to do is hide. Sleep. Cut. Three things I can't do at work.

I'll be fine though. I'm tough.

I don't see my therapist for 2 weeks. Two weeks! That seems so long. So far away. I'll make it though, and have some artwork to show him. 

3/23/18

This isn't really the post I want to write. I want to write an uplifting happy post or a funny post or anything but this.

I'm so fucking angry right now. Just so full of anger and irritability and hate it's ridiculous. And not only that but anxiety and racing thoughts . . . paranoia. I'm not sleeping well. I seem to be in an irritability type hypomania. It's mild - thank God - but it's frustrating none the less.

I'm getting so pissed at every little thing. Pissed to the point I want to either destroy stuff or break down sobbing. I'm trying not to do either.

One of the things I'm pissed at is how I look. My size, my weight. I've gained so much weight because of my medications and I can't seem to lose it. At all. I HATE how I look. I can't stand it. So much so that I want to self harm. And the shitty thing is that I have no drive to workout. No motivation. I'm ready to give up and give in because of my fucking moods. I fucking hate this so much. I hate what I've become.

And I'm so paranoid that other people feel the same way, that other people hate me too. Or at the very least dislike me and only tolerate me because they have to. I think other people are mad at me. I know these are probably delusions but I can't stop feeling that they're true.

I really hate fucking feeling like this. And I don't know how to make it stop.

Day 61

Would you look at that. We're up to day 61 of me being actually, legitimately stable. It's pretty amazing, really, when you consider I've spent the last 5 years either depressed or manic and not really anywhere in between. (It's been mostly depressed, by the way)

So anyway, I wasn't really sure how I wanted to start this, or if I even wanted to write it. I decided though that it's a part of me and writing it may help me along my journey of wellness. So yeah. Here goes.

Have you ever been on the website Tumblr? It's kind of a combination between a blog and twitter. Think of it as short, fast moving blogs that you scroll through. It can be a fun site. One thing that I didn't like was that there were people - quite a few of them - who were romanticizing mental illness. Not just mental illness, but every aspect of it - especially self harm and suicide. It was all made out to be beautiful, romantic, and tragic. Not informing the reader to seek help, but instead to shun those who don't see the beauty in your scars (what kind of bull crap is that??). I hated it.

Until I realized I'm kind of doing that myself.

Not shunning people, I'm not doing that. But maybe romanticizing my illness just a little. Maybe romanticizing suicide a little. See, normal is boring. It's meh. And I'm still learning how to navigate through being normal (I'm so used to depression). I've written before about feeling as though I'm missing something . . . I think what I'm missing is my extremes of moods. When I'm in an extreme mood, people pay attention to me. Definitely not everyone, and maybe not that many, but people do. It makes one feel important. So that even though you may be dead inside, you matter.

I don't know if that makes any sense. My therapist has asked me on at least two occasions if I was grieving the loss of my instability. Grieving the loss of my mood episode, essentially. I told him I don't know. I think part of me is. Not because I want to feel like shit. Fuck no, people! My depressions are horrible and life draining and I thank God daily that I don't feel like that anymore. But because I'm no longer receiving that attention. I'm no longer "special". I'm just another ordinary person. My bipolar makes me unique.

Does this make any sense? I don't want to be depressed, I don't want to feel like shit or get in trouble for my moods, but I want to be special. I want to be unique.

But the scary bit revolves around suicide. See, as of right now I see suicide as a viable way out. Not now, not right now, but later. I keep thinking, well, if I get depressed again in 5 or 10 or whatever years, I can just kill myself. I've had a couple of depression relapse scares during this current recovery and my mind immediately turned to suicide and I was worried that if I got worse I would actually attempt. I can't. One: I don't want to die, two: I have my husband and son to think about. Mainly #2 is what worries me and pains me the most. But I can't seem to stop these thoughts, no matter what I do.

I'm having a hard time organizing my thoughts about all of this. And my brain won't shut up either. Fuck.

Day 18

Well, today is day 18 of being "stable". That's right - you still notice the quotes? I'm still having difficulty with what I am. I'm having mood swings throughout the day, uncomfortable ones.

Yesterday, for example, hubby (J) and son (A) and I were sitting down to dinner. All of a sudden and out of the blue my mood plummeted, after being pretty okay all day. All through dinner I felt despair and as if life isn't worth living. After dinner, J laid down with me and tried to cheer me up. He tickled me, which made me laugh at first, but then I started sobbing for no real reason.

Today started okay, mood wasn't bad, took A to school and went out to the therapeutic riding center I volunteer at. I was only there a short period of time as classes were essentially cancelled (which was fine with me as I had a headache). I got my hair cut and colored and napped before picking A up from school. I felt very much like I was getting a cold. I skipped karate thanks to feeling sick, J and A still went. All this time my mood was mostly okay.

Until it wasn't.

They got home from karate and I felt like curling in a ball and not existing. I wanted to disappear. During dinner I felt the same way. I tried to chalk it up to having a cold, but I don't get these feelings when I have a cold - I get them when I'm depressed. It's too difficult to have to wake up every day and make it through the day, to find something worth living for. And I know I have things worth living for - I have my husband and my son for fuck's sake - but it's hard to hold onto that when you're not in control of your moods, when everything around you is so one dimensional and bleak.

Now luckily, luckily, these feelings aren't as strong as they were, not as strong as they were before I came upon this new found "stability". So I think I can manage, I think I can pull myself through.

At least that's what I tell myself.

It's just . . . all of this is so tiring.

Day 12

Today is day 12 (in a row!) of being stable. And this, my friends, is actually pretty fucking huge. Why? Twelve days of being stable out of the last four and a half years. Yep. You read that right. Twelve days out of the last 1,642 days.

But finally, some stability.

Now, you wouldn't believe how happy my therapist was to hear this news on Monday. My psychiatrist too. (I'm treatment resistant). Let's just say they were through the roof.

It's nice to feel okay, even, stable. . . happy even. It's a big difference. My hubby and son have noticed the change in me (my son especially), and I'm sure it's a nice change for them, too.





But really, I want to talk about today. Because today has been a bit weird. Today has been a bit off. I've wanted to cut. All day I've wanted to cut. And now, now I feel down, empty, and questioning whether my life truly has meaning. In other words, depressive symptoms. They're mild, and I'm hoping they stay that way, because I don't need to relapse already. Not after only 12 fucking days. Stupid fucking brain.

Some Stuff and Things

This week was kind of a busy week, what with seeing my therapist and my psychiatrist.

Therapy was good - difficult - but good. M thinks I'm making great progress and is proud of me for my revelation I finally had (more on that later). He's seeing definite positive change in me and thinks I'm doing the best I have been in the past 4 years he's been seeing me. Go me!

My appointment with my psychiatrist, Dr. M, was funny. Yes, funny. He had previously started me on Latuda and stopped my Seroquel, and he asked how it was going. I told him about my seroquel withdrawals (insomnia, rebound depression, hallucinations and delusions), but that they finally seem to be winding down (thank God). He asked how the Latuda was working for me. "Well, truthfully, I couldn't tell you if it's doing anything for the depression or if my starting to feel better is mainly the bilateral ECT. What I CAN tell you is that it's made it physically impossible for me to orgasm and has killed my libido." Dr. M threw his arms up in the air. "FANTASTIC! That's exactly what I hoped would happen! SUCCESS!" We both start laughing (me rather hysterically). "I'm joking, of course", he assured me. So he cut the dose in half, hoping to get some mood stabilizing effects while lessening the sexual side effects. Which is good because my poor husband. I could never have sex again and be fine with it. And I can't really give blow jobs because I have lock jaw/TMJ really bad and it fucking hurts.

So anyway, about my revelations. The other day (3-5 days ago, I don't remember) I had a day where I just felt kinda meh. I was just going about my day, running errands, whatever when it dawned on me - hey, this is probably how normal people feel. See, I wasn't experiencing extreme emotion, no anxiety, no delusions. I was having an average, normal day. And I realized, this is it. This is what I've been striving for. My mind isn't racing, I'm not rapid cycling, I'm not depressed/down/melancholy, I don't want to die, I'm not manic/hypomanic . . . This is it people!!! And the realization made me happy.

I told my hubby about it and he was all yeah - you expect life to be all smiling and giggling and super happy fun and all "la la la, look at me, weeeeeeeeeee, this is amazing!" (he's skipping and dancing around at this point). But he's right. I guess I've always expected that for me, being stable would be like being mildly, euphorically, hypomanic, which is just not realistic (sadly). And I FINALLY fucking realized it. It's only taken me for-fucking-ever (I'm 37 y'all).

That's what my therapist M was proud of - I finally realized this (he's only been drilling it into my head for 4 years, but whatever. I'm a slow learner I guess).

Another thing I've come to realize about bipolar disorder: I can be "stable" and "normal" and feeling "good/okay" and I  might still have to struggle on any given day. Like yesterday at work. It was a good day. Busy (delivered 7 babies), but good. But I found myself having to escape, having to get away from the nurses station, because I couldn't deal with the noise/talking/people. I had to go hide in a quiet area with no one around for awhile. Walk aimlessly around the unit to decompress. And I realized something else: it's okay if I have to do that. I'm managing my mood. I have a mood disorder that can choose to rear its ugly head at any moment and if I have tactics to effectively manage my mood, well, that's good and that's okay and go me for being able to do that. That doesn't mean I like it. I mean FUCK - I'm supposed to be getting stable now, right? Why the fuck should I still struggle?? But sadly, that's part of the disorder and I'm going to be doing this for the rest of my life. I might as well accept it and come up with strategies to manage it.

Anyway, that's all I got right now. Hope all is well with you.  

I Made a Mistake

I was laying on my bed just a little bit ago thinking that I should write. I even had an idea. But then I lost the idea, had no clue what it was, but still felt I should write.

My mood is crummy this morning which sucks because yesterday it was pretty good. I had ECT yesterday morning, had a good nap after I got home, and woke up feeling like a normal, happy person. Hot diggity damn! I cleaned the kitchen and cleaned the office. We had a boatload of papers that needed shredding in the office. I had to empty the shredder 3 times and the papers took up an entire kitchen trash bag.

Then hubby came home and I was telling him about everything I did. "You only shredded the right side of papers, right?" he asked, a little uncomfortable. "No, I shredded everything." "Okay, well, the left stack of papers was for our taxes."

Fuck.

I shredded our tax paperwork (and our taxes are complicated this year as we went through a short sale). 

Fuck.

I immediately felt defensive and stupid and horrible. My mood plummeted and I nearly broke down right there in the kitchen. Instead, I went into the office and sat on the floor, trying desperately to keep from crying. I was upset for several reasons. First and foremost, I thought my hubby was pissed off at me. I can't stand to have people mad at me. Second, I shredded our fucking tax papers! And third, well, I have bipolar disorder so I emotionally OVERreact to everything.

Hubby came in and assured me he wasn't mad at me. He stated he was upset, and we might have a harder time getting our taxes done (he wasn't entirely sure we actually needed the papers, he was keeping them just in case), but he wasn't mad at me. Which was a relief. 

But I still felt like shit. And I felt like shit the rest of the night, though I tried to hide it from everyone. Then I didn't sleep well (not like I have been anyway), and woke up still feeling like shit.

Which is very annoying because I really want to feel good. Or even just okay. Why can't I just fucking be okay?

Maybe I Should Starve Myself

So I was up at 4:30 this morning (which is better than the 3:30 I was up yesterday at) and I was thinking, holy fuck do I feel fat. And looking at myself in the mirror I'm all, holy fuck do I look fat. And my general over-all feeling is holy fuck I'm getting fucking fat. And so I decided to weigh myself which was fucking stupid because holy fuck y'all - I gained weight and I'm fucking fat. I'm the heaviest I've ever been in my life. I didn't even weigh this much when I was 9 months pregnant.

My mood was already not great because I'm not sleeping well and I was up early and I have a headache (again) and I'm generally just battling depression right now. But now I have to live with knowing that I've gained even MORE weight. Which makes me feel worse.

Seriously. I'm considering starving myself. Which is a lofty proposition because I obviously love food. I was going to be starting a new clean eating plan starting the first. I think I'm going to start it today. I've been bad about working out as I have no motivation because Clancy (my brain) is an asshole and I've been fucking depressed as fuck again. Well, now I have motivation - I now have over 40 pounds to lose (though I'll be happy if I can at least lose 20 of it).

This is frustrating as hell.

An Introduction of Sorts

I guess my first post on this blog should be some sort of an introduction, right? Yes? No? Maybe so? Well, that's what it's going to be, so deal with it.

Alright. So I'm Lynn and I have Bipolar Disorder. But that's really not the main thing. I'm an RN, and an artist, I'm married to the most amazing, wonderful, understanding man and we have an adorable 8 year old son who is probably the best kid EVER. Hands down. I work with horses (helping train a couple, including a feisty colt), and volunteer at therapeutic riding center.

But about that bipolar . . . I was officially diagnosed 4 years ago (by a psychiatrist - my family practice doc suspected 2 years before that that I was bipolar - I just refused treatment because I didn't want the diagnosis). I've been diagnosed both bipolar 1 and bipolar 2, though I believe I more closely fit bipolar 1 as I HAVE had a full blown manic episode and I also have delusions and hallucinations (yay psychosis!). I am a cutter, I have overdosed 3 times, have been hospitalized 4 times, and have been undergoing ECT (electroconvulsive therapy - shock treatments) for the last 6 months (22 treatments under my belt). I struggle mostly with the depressive side of bipolar, my mania tends to come out in mixed states.

How's that for a down and dirty?? This blog is more for my own personal use and I don't really expect to get many readers. That's fine. I'm not necessarily here to entertain you - I'm here to write about my own shit.

Oh - I also cuss. Like, a LOT. "Fuck" is like the word "the" to me. I use it all the time. Fucking get used to it.