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.    

Saturday 8/29/20 - Well Damn

 Only a few days since my last post. Kinda weird, eh? Yeah. I'm having an off day today. Very cranky, a little down, a lot frustrated. See, the past 2 months I've been feeling damn good. Happy and content and good. And today . . . I'm not. And it really is very frustrating. Now, I know my moods are going to fluctuate. I know this. But that doesn't mean I want them to. Why can't I just be rainbows and sunshine all the time? Why do I have to have off days?

When I have an off day I think my depression is coming back. That all the hard work I put into doing my program isn't working. And that scares me. And tends to compound my bad mood. I start a spiral. A downward spiral. And this is not a good thing. It brings me back to my old habits. Habits I'm trying to lose. 

I made myself take a break today. Instead of going out with my hubby and son I stayed home and took a nap. It was a short nap, but it was a nap. Then I went through all my notes from the program, really studied them and thought about them. And those two things helped. A bit. I'm better now than I was earlier today. I was seeing darkness earlier today and now I'm not. Or at least not as much. Which is why I felt the need to write. 

Ugh. I just want to be perpetually better. Where I don't have to think about it, where I don't have to try so damn hard. I know I'll get there . . . eventually.  I just wish I was there now. Oh well.

In other news, I saw the endodontist on Wednesday and had a root canal done. Delightful. Actually, the root canal itself isn't all that bad - he numbed me up good so that I didn't feel a thing. But now my tooth aches and I can't chew on my left side and if I accidentally clench down I get sharp zingers of pain. I still have to get my permanent crown place which will hopefully be done on Tuesday. Until then it's aches and zingers and chewing on my right side. It's really not that much fun.

Sunday 8-9-20 Depression and Lithium

 Hello my little weirdos! How's it going this lovely Sunday? It's sunny here in Colorado, supposed to be around 95 degrees today (have I mentioned I'm ready for fall?). I don't like it ridiculously hot - 75 with a breeze is perfect. But we don't always get what we want, do we? That's okay though, this is better than snow.

So things have been pretty status quo with me. There's nothing terribly new to report . . . I'm still doing very well, still feeling stable and happy and positive. One thing has changed though: the longer I go with feeling good, the more a small part of me misses the depression. How fucked up is that?? I still have little dipity dos here and there, and when I do, part of me embraces them and tries to hold on. I hate this. I hate this so much. I understand why - I'm so used to being depressed that that's what makes the most sense to me. But understanding it doesn't mean I have to like it. 

I'm working to squelch this part of me. I don't want to be drawn to depression. At all. Ever. I'm using all the tools I learned doing my program. I'm recognizing this as a part of me and working to let it go. Because how awful would it be if I managed to self sabotage and get bad again. Nope. We're not doing that. 

In other news, in my last post I mentioned that I'm decreasing my Lithium dose. I've been on 900mg (instead of 1350mg) for about 3 weeks now (that's 3 pills down to 2). I've noticed my tremors aren't quite as bad, my ankle swelling isn't as bad, and I've had no mood changes. So, I'm going to be going down to one pill. I'll do it a little more gradually - every other day. So last night I took 2, tonight I'll take one, tomorrow 2, and so on. For one to two weeks and then I'll stay at one pill. My goal is to get off of the Lithium. I've been on it for 6 or 7 years and it would be nice to get rid of one medication. We'll see how it goes I guess. I'm sure Dr. M won't be pleased with me (he doesn't know I'm doing this). But I don't have to worry about that until September when I see him again. 

There's not too much else going on. Work is busy. We delivered 25 babies in 24 hours - a record for my hospital. It's pretty amazing, really. I'm trying to pick up extra shifts  to prepare me for hopefully going back to full time in January. 

I'm feeling uninspired art wise lately. I'm going to try and come up with some ideas this week. That's my goal. At least 2 ideas. And then execute them. Hopefully I can live up to that.

  

Monday 6/29/20 Therapy

So I had therapy today and it was a blast. No really. It was. But that's because I'm hypomanic. I was suspecting that I was and my therapist was like, "yeah, you definitely are."

Let's back up a minute. Last night I slept - about as well as I normally do which means waking up every hour to pee (I drink a lot of water - thanks lithium). This is important because the previous 3 nights I didn't sleep. Maybe 2-3 hours a night. And I didn't feel tired. No. I felt energized! So apparently no sleep + Wellbutrin + starting my mental and emotional mastery program = hypomanic.

You guys, I feel so amazing. Now, I'm not crazy hypomanic - I'm just mildly hypomanic. Enough to feel great and have energy and laugh hysterically for 10 minutes straight at a picture that isn't even really that funny (I did that yesterday).

So in therapy today I talked about the mastery program and spirituality and depression and showed M my latest art and talked about purpose and religion and and and . . . But I was talking really fast and flitting from topic to topic and couldn't really sit still and I was laughing. A lot. M must have gotten a kick out of me because he was laughing too. But even still, it was a good session.

Now my hope is that this hypomania sticks around. For awhile. Or forever. One of the two. (Hopefully forever).

Thursday 6/4/20 Therapy

Well. Therapy was a bit different today than it normally is. Different in a good way, different in a weird way . . . just, different. It started with M meeting me outside his office. I was a bit confused, actually.

"Do you remember a few months ago when I said I had someone in a similar situation as you?" M asked. "And I thought you two could meet?"

"Umm, no, not really," I replied.

"Well I do, and his appointment was just before yours. I thought you could meet him and talk a little bit. Are you okay with that?"

"Sure, I guess." M ushered me into the building and into his office. Truthfully, I was a little taken aback. I almost never mind talking to other people with bipolar disorder - I usually enjoy it - but my initial thought was that this would eat into my session. And I wasn't too keen on that. I had stuff I wanted to talk about.

As I walked into M's office I saw a rather good looking young fellow who introduced himself as Jacob. He was dressed in jeans and a t-shirt but looked put together. I introduced myself and took a seat in M's rocking chair - he insisted I sit there. M had Jacob and I start by giving each other some background info about ourselves, including why we were seeing M.

"Well," I said, "I'm seeing M because I'm bat shit crazy." (enter slightly tense laughter here) "Actually, that's kinda true. I was diagnosed 10 years ago, and I've been diagnosed as both bipolar 1 and 2, no one seems to know which I really am. Not that it matters. I also have chronic PTSD. I've dealt with depression since I was in 5th grade, misdiagnosed as Major Depression for many years. I've had my ups and downs, but I mostly struggle with the depression side of bipolar.  I'm a nurse, I deliver babies, I love my job. I'm married and we have a 13 year old son. My husband is the most supportive person I know and I would be lost without him. I've been hospitalized 6 times - once for mania and 5 times for depression/suicidal ideation. Um . . . and I have a dog."

Jacob was attentive while I rambled on, nodding here and there. He told me he had also been dealing with depression since he was young and was misdiagnosed as ADHD, anxiety, and Major Depression until he was diagnosed bipolar 2 a year and a half ago. He's struggled with ups and downs too, mostly downs. He's struggled with drugs and alcohol in the past but feels he has that aspect under control. He mostly used the drugs and alcohol to numb his symptoms. His father is his biggest supporter, along with a few close friends.

Now, to be fair, there was more that Jacob said. He was very well spoken and very out spoken. And, honestly, I don't remember it all.

We talked for 45 minutes about our experiences, meds, psychiatrists, hospitalizations, support systems, stigma, coping mechanisms, art (he draws and plays music, I draw/paint), and therapy. I thoroughly enjoyed talking with him.

After 45 minutes M "kicked him out" so we could talk. Jacob asked for my number to talk again, which I gave him. And then M and I had a 20 minute mini session. I told him about my crap moods, about feeling like a burden, about cutting. It was an intense mini session, and that, coupled with all the talking with Jacob . . . well, I'm a bit worn out. Mentally, not physically. Obviously.

In other news, I had maintenance TMS again on Tuesday. They re-mapped my brain and upped the intensity slightly. Hopefully this helps. Wednesday I did a short workout which felt nice. Nice to move my body again. Though I'm sore today. And I see Dr. M next Tuesday. And, well, I might be firing him. I think I need a med change. I don't think my current combo is working like it should be. So if all he does is offer ECT, then I'll find myself a different doctor. One who is willing to work WITH me. I hope I don't have to fire Dr. M - I've been with him for 5-6 years. But I need someone who's going to listen to me.

I think that's all I got in me. I might need a nap. 

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.

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. 

Friday 3/13/20

It's Friday the 13th. Any of you out there superstitious? I'm not.

Actually, that's a lie. I am a little. Why? Because I'm a nurse and we see weird shit and trends. Like laboring patients coming in on a full moon. Always busier on a full moon. So why not Friday the 13th?

Anyway, I have updates from my last sorrow filled post. Not many, but some.

I saw my psychiatrist this week and discussed my returning depression. He, predictably, suggested ECT. Which I declined. No med changes. Why? because I've already been on 23 different meds. So yeah, there's not really anything out there for me to try. What to do, what to do . . .

I told him about what I was doing: maintenance TMS.  Now, I mentioned this in my last post as an option for me except that it was cost prohibitive. Well, hubby almost forced me to do it. He insisted. (I think he read my last post). We have some money in savings, we do, but I feel like a financial burden pulling from that. I feel selfish, using that money solely for me. I feel awful about it, quite honestly.

But hubby, he told me not to worry about it. He told me to let him worry about it. So I gave in. I let him take my worry from me and I had a session of maintenance TMS done this week. I had it done Tuesday. I saw my psych doc on Wednesday. Today is Friday and I'm feeling a little better. I worked yesterday and it was busy and I handled myself well and even had a little fun. So I'm doing better, I am.

I'm not all the way there. There have been several times today where I've come close to breaking down. But I'm better. I'm getting there. I may need another session or two of TMS to bring me all the way back, and if I do, well then, I do. I'm trying not to worry about it (which is hard to do with anxiety). But I'm trying.

Tuesday 2/18/20

I meant to write last night, but I distracted myself with Pinterest. I needed to write last night, but I didn't. I don't really know why I didn't. There's no good reason.

My black cloud is trying to envelop me, trying to consume me. I've had some bad days. Days where I can barely get out of bed to use the bathroom. Days where I see no end to the darkness. I'm trying not to let it get me. I'm fighting as best as I can.

I'm thinking about doing maintenance TMS. It's once or twice a month. But it's $200 a pop and we honestly don't have the money for that. I'm also sticking to an eating plan, calorie counting, and exercising. Maybe if I can lose some weight it'll help.

Maybe it will help.

I'm trying to counter all of my negative thoughts - which is exhausting - and remain positive. I'm trying to stay present, get plenty of rest, and interact with people (also exhausting). Speaking of interacting with people, a few coworkers have noticed my facade slipping and have asked me if I'm okay.

Do I lie or do I open up?

I guess it depends on who it is.

I've been doing some art - paintings. Keeps me occupied, kills the time, keeps me from napping. As of right now I thankfully have a shred of inspiration. Hopefully I can hang on to that. Painting helps.

I haven't studied Spanish for weeks. I can't concentrate. I haven't really read in weeks because I can't concentrate. I try, but I fail. If I lose my inspiration for painting I don't know what I'll do.

Probably nap, which I don't want to do. That's giving in and I can't do that.

Just over a week and I have therapy. Maybe that'll help.

Until then I'll keep struggling against the waves.

Thursday 10/10/19

I'm curled up on my couch in a hoodie with a big fluffy blanket wrapped around me. The heat is turned on but I'm still cold. That's not surprising though - it went from 75 degrees and sunny yesterday to 20 degrees and snowing today. That's not uncommon here in Colorado. My body isn't used to the cold.

Everything has been super uneventful. Seriously. Nothing exciting is happening at all. I'm working my two 12's a week, trying to stay productive on my days off (doesn't always happen), and get to the gym despite the pain I'm having.  It's all rather boring. But that's a good thing I think. Usually when there's excitement with me it's the wrong kind.

I've been reading more, which is nice. Of course, I've been reading more because I don't have any inspiration for artwork. I want to draw and paint, I just don't know what I should draw and paint. I thought about joining an art challenge for the moth of October - called Inktober - but I couldn't come up with anything to draw after looking at the prompts. I felt overwhelmed. So I'm not doing it.

Mood wise I've been doing pretty darn good. Which is really amazing. I feel pretty great, actually. It's so weird not having my black cloud around. I don't want to sound too ambitious, but I'm hoping I get at least a year of this before my depression comes back. Wouldn't that be something? The most I usually get is a couple of months. But this time it feels different. I'm actually feeling - I'm not just flat or numb. So hopefully it will last.

Pain wise I'm about the same. Yesterday was a bad pain day where I was stiff and aching all over. Hubs and I went to the gym and tried to do legs. Well, he did legs, I tried. My knees hurt too bad to do much of anything. Stupid fibromyalgia.

Well, I don't really have much to write about right now. Probably I'll take a short nap and read. I'm going to try and write at least once a week, even if it's just boring mediocre stuff. So until next time . . .   

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?

3/22/19

Well. I'm having a bit of a rough go of it today. Which is annoying. My mood is down - not depressed - but down. And all because my brain is an asshole and won't shut up. My brain likes being an asshole, and it's good at it. Too good at it. What's it doing . . .?

I was getting ready this morning and happened to really look at myself in the mirror. I look at myself in the mirror all the time but this morning . . . this morning was different. I was immediately filled with self loathing. I could see every flaw, every wrinkle, every fold of fat. I could see it all. The bags under my eyes, the dull grey color of my eyes, how my hair was just laying there, no volume, no real style. How ugly and fat I was.

You look hideous. You look old and worn out. You're fat. Are you even trying to lose weight because it looks like you're gaining more. You're so frumpy. You have no sense of style. How does Jeremy even still love you? Ayden is embarrassed by you. You have wrinkles every where I can see your pores you don't do anything with your hair look how your stomach hangs you look pale I'm surprised Jeremy hasn't leftyouyou'reworthlessyouhavenothingtogivewhydon'tyoujustkillyourself . . . . . .

All of the negative thoughts started running together. It was hard to even separate them. My eyes welled up with tears as I stood there looking at myself and listening to my brain barrage me. I couldn't move. I was frozen there, trying my best not to cry because Ayden was in his room next door. I didn't want him to hear me.

Even 6 months ago this would have gotten to me. This would have hit me hard. Now, that's not to say that it didn't hit me. On the contrary. My mood went south in a heartbeat. But the difference between now and 6 months ago is now I'm stable. Now I know how to counter these thoughts and practice self care. And that's what I did. I countered these thoughts. I told myself that I was beautiful in and out. That even though I was overweight and not where I want to be that didn't make Jeremy love me any less. And you know what?

It kind of helped.

That sounds stupid, doesn't it? I'm sure you were waiting for me to say that it worked. That I went about my day feeling happy with no more negative self talk. But that's simply not true. That's, sadly, not how my brain works. It has been barraging me with negative comments all day. So much so that I feel mentally exhausted. But I'm countering them. I'm keeping myself from going deeper. I'm writing about it in hopes that this will help.

Six months ago I would have felt like shit. Today I feel down and worn out, but definitely not like shit. So I'd say that's progress.    

3/17/19

Man. It's been awhile since I've written anything again. I'm not sure what's up with that. But let's get right into it, shall we?

I'm having a little bit of a rough day today. It's not a bad day, not by any means, but it's definitely a little rough. I'm feeling a bit down and my mind is racing and I can't seem to focus on anything. Even sitting down to write this is proving difficult.

When I have days like this it's hard for me to remember that it's just a day. I immediately think that it must be the start of a new episode. That I'm going to get worse. That life as I know it - stability - is going to come crashing down around me. I try to remind myself that that's simply not the case and that it's just one day. But that doesn't seem to help. My mind races with doomsday scenarios and it tends to make my mood worse.

And you may remember from my last post that there's a part of me that wants this to happen (a very, very small part, but a part none the less). And this part rejoices and throws negative commentary at me, trying to instill a sense of hopelessness. Today that little ear worm is gaining strength.

And that pisses me off.

And not only that, I've been more flat lately. People at work have noticed as I've been more quiet. I'm just not . . . feeling. Not Like I had been. Not like I want to. That in and of itself is a downer. I need to be able to feel. What good is stability if I'm flat? If I'm anhedonic? I don't know, what do I know?

To counter this I've started taking a couple of supplements. L-tryptophan and D,L-phenylalanine. They're amino acids that convert to serotonin, dopamine, and norepinephrine. They're supposed to help with depression. Now, technically I'm not depressed. I'm stable. I'm hoping, on the one hand, they help keep me stable. On the other hand, if they raise serotonin and dopamine, I'm hoping for maybe some hypomania. I know, I know. I shouldn't be playing around with crap like this. It's not necessarily safe. Or wise. But I just really want a wider range of emotion. I feel so muted. And I'm tired of it.

Last night and this morning were my first doses of the supplements. And so of course I feel down. I seem to have a bad track record with supplements. I plan on giving them at least a few days to see how I feel. Hopefully my next blog post will be more positive and uplifting.

2/25/19

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why does part of me want to be sick again? What kind of twisted, fucked up person am I??

No, seriously.

What. The actual. Fuck. Is wrong with me?

There is a small part of me that wants to be sick again. That wants to be hospitalized again. And I just . . . I don't understand it. At all. I can't even fathom wanting to be sick again. It's awful. It's horrible. And to actually want to be like that? Depressed again? Suicidal again? No. I don't get it.

It's actually very difficult for me to even write about this, to get it out there. I'm embarrassed of it. Ashamed of it. And it makes me feel guilty. Guilty because I've gone through so much and worked so hard to get stable and part of me wants to throw it all away. And for what? Attention?

Attention. That's about the only thing I can come up with. Because I do get more attention when I'm sick. But that attention? It's not worth my stability. So I don't know . . .

What else could it be . . . Familiarity? I am used to being depressed. I've spent most of my life depressed and let's be honest - stability is a little scary. I don't know how to act. I don't know what "normal" is.

But stability is so wonderful. It's so much better than the hell of depression. Stability is even better than hypomania (let's be honest - that's because I usually get irritable hypomania, not euphoric). Stability is necessary for my family, necessary for work, necessary for me.

So why? Why does part of me want to be sick again?

2/13/19

Would you look at that, the day before Valentine's day. Isn't that special?

No, not really. It's really not. I never really got Valentine's day, other than it being a commercial holiday. Hubs and I don't celebrate it. Seems a waste of money.

Anyway, my low mood seems to be continuing. It's not bad, it's just . . . noticeable. I'm a little off, a little down, a little empty, a little bit not me. So there's that. And then I spoke to my mom this week. Or should I say I listened to her ramble on about nothing. She had been drinking already (it was 12:30pm when she called) and she was past tipsy but not quite drunk yet. It made me realize something. It made me realize how little I want to have anything to do with her. It made me realize how truly stressed out I get when she even texts me. It made me realize how angry and anxious hearing her voice makes me. It made me realize how futile it is trying to have a relationship with her.

And see, I've been trying to have a relationship with her. But it's just . . . it's not working. I'm really at the point where I can't stand the woman. She embarrasses me, she makes me angry and anxious and uncomfortable. And she's in such strong denial about her drinking that she could be pouring vodka into a glass and drinking it and still deny that she drinks alcohol. To say it's frustrating is a vast understatement.

I've been working on all this in therapy, have read the ACOA books (Adult Children of Alcoholics), been to ACOA meetings . . . I've talked with hubs and my friends about it and gotten advice from them. I don't know what else to do. I'm really at the point where I want to cut off all communication.

I can't, of course, do that because we have a loan through her. So there has to be some form of communication. Which, let's face it, I dread.

I guess this will be the topic of discussion in therapy next week. Joy.

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.

12/24/18

Wow. It's been awhile since I've written anything. Two weeks. And it's Christmas eve. Although it doesn't feel like Christmas at all. No, it just feels like any other day. Can't say I've gotten into the Christmas spirit this year. I pretty much blame my depression for that.

I had a therapy appointment last week. Ended up crying in therapy and then crying myself to sleep that night. Always so much fun.

I've been about the same as I was in my last blog post. Hovering just below the surface, unable to really feel much of anything except negative emotions here and there. There is a change though, I have been able to feel some positive emotions. They're not strong, and they're not long lived, but they have been there. I'm so thankful for that. Because I'm truly drowning here.

Now today, today I have been weird. I keep fluctuating between being mostly okay to being an anxious ball of worry. Why? Well, for one, it's Christmas eve which means church. I'm going to throw out there that I hate church. I feel like such an outcast there. I get nothing from the sermons. And all of the sit-stand-kneel, sit-stand-kneel is annoying as hell. My hubby goes every Sunday (he's Catholic, I'm . . . nothing) and he takes our son. I'm kind of the black sheep I guess. But I go with him Christmas eve if I'm not working. And I don't like it. And there's so many people and I don't do well with crowds. But I go. I just most certainly don't look forward to it. Quite the opposite - I dread it.

Here's the other thing. Hubby is in a men's group at the church and one of the guys invited us over to dinner tonight. And we're going. Why is this a problem? I won't know anyone there. For an introvert this is a nightmare. The longer I deal with this depression the more introverted I become - even around people I know. I'm quiet, I fade into the background. And let's be honest - I think I've forgotten how to have fun. I don't know what to talk about. I don't remember hardly any good stories about my work and the other main topic of my life is my bipolar disorder (which I don't really want to talk about with strangers). I don't know how to make conversations. I don't know how to engage people. I've bought 3 books on the subject but haven't even made it through one yet.

So I'm anxious. Anxious about church, anxious about this dinner party. And I feel overall down. I wish I didn't have to deal with this. With the anxiety, the depression, the bipolar, with myself.

I hope to god there will be alcohol there tonight. 

12/10/18

This post may not make much sense. I don't know. I just got home from seeing my psychiatrist and I have a whopping headache, right above my left eye. I can't concentrate.

Let's talk about my appointment with my psychiatrist Dr. M. I like Dr. M. I trust him. I think he does a  good job. But sometimes I don't think he really hears me. Like today. He told me that he thinks I'm doing better than I have been in a long time. That I'm not having extreme ups and downs. I still may be cycling, but I'm stable. I'm stable.

Which, you know what, that's true I guess. I'm not having extreme ups and downs. I'm manageable right now. But I am still cycling, mostly with depression. I'm swimming just below the surface, trying desperately to break through to gasp for air. But it's not happening. The surface is frozen solid and I'm trapped below, slowly losing my steam.

To most people I seem fine. I seem normal. Maybe even like my old self, albeit a little quiet. This is because I'm pretending. I'm putting up a facade that everything is okay. People expect it to be. So they look past the quietness, they look past the blank stares and the vacant look in my eyes. My hubby can tell, as can my close friends. But most people can't.

Most days I'm empty and emotionless. Numb. A husk of who I should be. I have a flat affect and I have to pretend to have feelings to fit in. I even pretend around my hubby because I don't want him to have to deal with me like that day in and day out. Sometimes, I'll even have real feelings. Sadly though, they're not good ones. They're hopelessness, despair, dread, sadness, guilt, and shame. All the feelings of "real" depression.

I explained this to Dr. M and he kind of dismissed it. He said that yes, I'm cycling, but to hang in there and it would get better. Hang in there and it will get better?? I've been in this current down cycle for 4 freaking months! When? When is it going to get better? Of course he can't answer that question. I asked about uppers and he said no. He was worried that 1. they could make me manic, and 2. they could make my depression worse.

Great.

Flailing desperately below the surface appears to be as good as it gets for me.

It'a a damn good thing I'm stubborn.  

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.