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.

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.