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. 

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 4/6/20

I just finished my tele therapy session with M. Tele therapy, you ask? Face time on the computer basically. So yes, I just finished my session. Therapy is always helpful - seriously, always - but sometimes I don't quite say everything I mean to.

Like today.

See, I don't want to sound like a broken record. I don't want to sound stupid or naive. I don't want to be judged (although I know M would never judge me). And sometimes, sometimes I'm too scared to put myself out there.

I think all of these things were holding me back today. I couldn't speak up, I couldn't say what was truly on my mind.

And what was on my mind?

My depression. My depression was on my mind. I'm not "fully" depressed. I'm not suicidal. I'm functional. I can smile. I can even laugh. But I'm dead inside. I'm so empty. I'm hollow - there's nothing there. In a world full of color, everything is grey for me.

I feel as though everything is pointless. Everything is stupid - why do any of it?

I feel flat. I'm not feeling real emotions. I'm faking them for the sake of others. I can smile, though I'm not quick to do so. I can laugh, though it's mostly a facade. I can get angry, though it's short lived (that's a good thing I guess). My emotions are muted. It's as if they aren't even there. Even when I feel worse than empty I can't cry. There's not enough emotion behind it.

I feel trapped by this. I want to feel. I want my emotions. And I don't know how to get out of this. I don't know what to do.

I have TMS this Wednesday, the 8th. I'm hoping this helps. I had spoken to my psychiatrist a couple weeks ago and he had nothing to offer med wise. He brought up trying ECT again which I won't do. Especially when I have TMS as an option.

I've been so non-feeling that I've had the urge to cut again. Because if I'm feeling pain, at least it's something. I hate this about myself. I thought I was over this.

But this grey . . . it's unrelenting. It's all encompassing. And it's a pain in the ass. Truly. 

5/17/19

I'm sitting in bed trying hard to cry. Yes, you read that right. I'm trying to cry.

Why?

Because I can't.

I have no emotional response right now. No emotions. I feel so empty and hollow and flat. Anhedonic. There's just nothing there. And I don't know what to do. I keep thinking that if maybe I can cry I'll feel better. I'll have an emotional release and I'll be able to feel again. But I. Can't. Cry.

I felt like this yesterday as well. It feels so . . . bad. I feel down and depressed but I also feel nothing at all. I was at work. Which is bad. It means I have access to sharp objects. And I cut. Only once. And for a split second I could feel. For a split second I could feel. The emptiness left me and I felt grounded.

But it was only for a second and then the emptiness came flooding back around me. I was alone again in a world of billions.

This is where I'm at again today. Alone and empty and scared. What if this continues? What if it gets worse? What if?

I don't want to go back to doing ECT, but I can't go on like this. My biggest fear is that this continues and my Pdoc won't support me trying different meds or methods to get better. He'll be all about ECT. And he'll give me an ultimatum: ECT or find another psychiatrist. I can't do that. I don't want another Pdoc. He knows me.

In this regard I'm probably worrying over nothing and I keep telling myself that. Because it does nothing to help my mood. It just makes me anxious and feel worse.

I hate feeling like this. I want to cut again. I want to cry. I want to put my fist through the wall. I want to not exist.

I don't know what to do.

What do I do?

10/1/18

It's kind of hard to believe it's October already. It's starting to feel like fall here in Colorado - brisk temperatures, the leaves are changing, pumpkin spice lattes can be found everywhere . . . It's my favorite time of year.

What's also hard to believe is that I kind of want to die. I know I don't really want to - it's just my brain lying to me - but I'm experiencing those familiar feelings of hopelessness and despair. Feeling that everything is pointless.  Feeling hollow and empty. So empty I hurt. So empty that I can't even cry, though my body tries desperately to do so. So empty that I want to cut again just so I can feel something.

I'm not in a good place and I think it's becoming more evident. I don't know about home, but at work people have noticed me withdrawing more. People have noticed that I've become more quiet. People are asking about it. And a couple people - people I've confided in - know how bad I am.

I don't want to be this bad again. I was feeling so good for almost 3 full months. I was finally getting used to being okay.

And now I'm not again.

.
.
.

Anyway, I'm starting a 90 day challenge. Have you heard of Rachel Hollis? She's the author of the book Girl, Wash Your Face, and an amazing speaker/motivator. She's putting on a 90 day challenge to help women reach their goals - or at least make progress towards them - before the new year. So I joined. My main goal being to lose weight but I plan on using her advice and motivation to help me with my mood wherever I can.

Hopefully this will help.

6/27/18

This is going to be a bunch of rambling, I apologize for that.

I was supposed to work yesterday, post partum. Monday night when I went to bed I was praying to be put on delayed start as I wasn't sure I'd be able to work. Tuesday morning came and my alarm went off. I hit the snooze but laid awake dreading getting up. I was already feeling bad. But my phone chimed with a text message from the night charge - I was being put on delayed start until 10am. I nearly cried. I went back to bed until 7:30, got up and showered, went downstairs to get break fast and coffee.

At 9:15 I called in to see if I would be needed or redelayed. I got news I didn't want to hear. I was going into work at 11. My heart sank. I wasn't sure I could handle it. Well, no choice now, I'm going into work. I went downstairs to finish a painting I had started Monday and actually finished it. Got ready and left for work.

I felt like crap. Depressed and anxious. I honestly wasn't sure I'd be able to keep up the facade of being okay. I got my assignment, a new c-section and a new vaginal delivery, made sure my rooms were set up, and got report. And it was fine. Everything was fine.

Except that it wasn't.

I felt like I was interacting okay but I wasn't feeling anything. There was nothing there except emptiness. There was just . . . nothing. I felt flat and emotionless. I didn't care. Not about my patients and not about my coworkers. I tried. I tried.

Here's the thing. I tried interacting, and I think I was mostly convincing, but I didn't try too hard.

Wait, what?

Yeah. I didn't try too hard. See, I've been told that I try too hard and in my quest for perfection I end up making things worse. I end up spoiling my mood. Because I'm not going to be perfect. No one is. But I expect myself to be and then when I'm not I make things worse.

So, I tried, but not too hard, and I was mostly convincing although all I felt was empty and flat and withdrawn and depressed and horrible. There were even times I went into the break room and curled up in a ball on the couch because I just couldn't handle how I was feeling. I wanted to curl up in a ball and not exist. But I settled for the couch. Luckily no one walked in on me.

I wanted to cut so bad but I didn't. I'm both proud of myself for that but also upset with myself. Part of me feels I should have just cut and part of me knows that's not an effective coping mechanism. So I'm torn.

 I have therapy today for which I'm thankful because I really fucking need it. I feel like an hour isn't going to be enough time.

Anyway, I really don't know what to do anymore. I can't keep going on like this. I'm not that strong. This damn cloud won't leave me. And I don't. Know what. To do.

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.

3/4/18

I should be at work right now but I discharged all of my patients so instead I'm at home, sitting in bed, trying not to cry (I'm failing). See, I'm struggling today. I'm having a hard time keeping my head above water. Everyone around me is talking and laughing and I can barely breathe.

I'm stuck in this mild depression. I'm not full of despair, it's not crippling, black, nothingness. But I'm an empty husk, a shell of who I should be. I don't have real emotions - they're all fake, a facade. My smiles are forced, my laugh a hoax. I'm trying my best but people saw through me today, including a patient's husband.

I'm withdrawn and quiet and flat but I'm trying desperately not to be this way, hence the faking. Fake it till you make it, right? I mean, that's what I'm trying but it just doesn't seem to be working. This is pretty much how I've been feeling since I was discharged from Peak View, save for a few days of hypomania. This fucking mild depression.

And the shitty thing is that I want to cut and I want to die. I'm not suicidal mind you, not really. But I wouldn't mind just . . . dying. And I want to cut myself so bad, I want to carve up my arm. I haven't  so far but I don't know how long that will last.

So that's where I'm at. Annoyingly, mildly depressed. Lost and sad and empty and losing hope and I don't see a point to anything anymore. It's a shitty place to be. 

1/23/18

Things have been weird lately. All around strange and I don't really know what to make of it. See, I've been stable now for 78 days. Can you believe that?? Seventy eight days with no depression or mania. My mood has been even. Normal. I've been normal.

And I don't know what to do with myself.

No really. I don't really know how to be normal anymore. I've been depressed or rapid cycling for so long that normalcy is foreign to me. Yes, even though it's almost been 3 full months.

I feel lost. I feel awkward. I feel like I'm learning how to interact with people all over again. And this is difficult because I'm still withdrawn. I'm trying not to be. I'm trying to put myself out there, chat with coworkers, ask questions, actively listen . . . but I still find myself being withdrawn, stumbling over my words, and feeling like a buffoon.

Large gatherings of people (more than, say,  4-5) make me uncomfortable and make me withdraw more. I feel like curling up in a ball and disappearing. It's hard for me to open up and interact in situations like this.

New situations confuse, frighten, and overwhelm me. I have the opportunity to go to a conference for free - I just have to volunteer some of my time. The thought of volunteering terrifies me. So much so that I'm not going.

I feel that through the course of my illness I've fundamentally changed. I'm not who I used to be. And I hate that.

And even though I'm stable there are still some, I don't know what to call them, bad things happening? I still hallucinate every day. Sometimes a lot, sometimes a little, but always every day. I'm still having suicidal thoughts most days that I have to fight and counter. I still want to cut and I have.

But who knows. Maybe this is just how I am now when I'm stable. A withdrawn, frightened, overwhelmed girl who hallucinates, cuts, and contemplates her own death.

I'll be honest, I'm not sure this is who I want to be. But I'm not really sure how to change. it. 

12/10/17

I woke up this morning feeling down. Legit down. Definitely not myself. I sat drinking my coffee near tears. What the fuck is up with this?

Yesterday at work I had suicidal thoughts. Thoughts about the pointlessness of life. About how I'm just going to get depressed again. And again. I'll never escape it. So why bother? I thought about how. I pictured it so vividly. And then I stopped myself and tried to correct my thinking, tried to purge those horrible thoughts . . .

But they stuck around.

I ignored them. And then when I got off work I told hubby about them. I probably scared him because I'm supposed to be better. I've been better for a month - I'm not supposed to have these thoughts anymore.

And then I wake up this morning feeling down, feeling near tears, for absolutely no reason. And those thoughts? Yeah, they're still there. I'm doing my best to ignore them, to not acknowledge them, and to counter them when they break through.

I want to cut. That flash of pain and blood stop the thoughts. I have nothing here to cut with. That's on purpose of course, but right now it's making me angry.

Oh well. I exercised, I'm listening to music, I'm trying to distract myself. I'll get through this - I've gotten through much worse.

12/8/17

It's been about 4.5 weeks now that I've been on the Vraylar. Four and a half weeks of feeling "normal", of feeling "good". I've had a couple of dips though. Last weekend, Saturday, I cut. I was feeling down, off, not right. And I cut. Sunday I felt the same but I tried to hide it and play it off.I had an instance where I went downstairs and got on the spin bike to keep from screaming and destroying things. I ended up crying. Monday I had ECT and therapy and I was definitely off - but that's probably more the ECT than anything else.

The more I think about it though, the more I think I've truly been off all week. Just not feeling myself this week. A little down but not really - I don't feel depressed. I just don't feel like me. I'm hyper sensitive, quick to anger and just off. I don't know how else to describe it.

Yesterday and today all I want to do is stay in bed and hide away and sleep. Not be bothered by anyone or anything. I think hubby is a little worried as he's noticed it.

I'm hoping this means nothing. I'm hoping this is just a little blip in the big scheme of things feeling better. Because I deserve to feel better. So I'm trying not to let it worry me. I see Dr. M on Monday and will talk to him about it.

In the meantime I'm going to try not to worry and try to be "normal".

11/15/17

It's been awhile and there's been a pretty big change. Last week, on Monday the 6th I had ECT and therapy. Then on Tuesday the 7th I had an appointment with Dr. M and he changed up my meds. I'm weaning off of my Latuda (tonight will be my last night of it) and he started me on a new medication called Vraylar. And let me tell you, there's been a change in how I'm feeling. I mostly feel normal, good, fine. I've had some hypomania and some anger and anxiety, but for the most part I'm normal. No depression.

Now that I've gotten that out, I want to talk about what's also been going on. Namely, a ridiculous increase in hallucinations and a resurgence of delusions. So much fun. And wanting to smoke and cut. There's that too. (and I have cut)

Hallucinations! I see shadow figures almost everywhere, in my bedroom, in my bathroom, out and about. These include humanoid shadows and also animal shadows (mostly canid or bear). I've seen Cliff (old man), though not frequently. I saw a hovering car, bugs crawling all over the mirror and computer screen, and a large mouse which poof! Vanished. I know these are hallucinations and for the most part they aren't bothersome.

Delusions! The delusions are another story. And still, I know they're delusions but they often scare me. I'm convinced that there is going to be a man standing outside my truck door when I get home at night and he is going to grab me. I'm so anxious to leave my truck at night. I am convinced that something is going to grab me as I'm getting into bed the first time at night. I literally jump into bed to avoid being grabbed. And if I get up to pee? I'm fine. Nothing will grab me. It's only that first time getting into bed. When I shower in the morning and I wash my face I close my eyes to rinse off so soap and water doesn't get in them. Now I have to rinse as fast as I can and I actually scream and flail my arms around as I'm convinced there's someone there and they're going to grab me. I know that there's no one there, but my brain has convinced me otherwise. This is very much not fun.

And then wanting to cut and wanting to smoke . . . good God, seriously? I want to carve up my arm. I want to cut my wrist and see how much I bleed. This is not normal. And I want to smoke. I smoked 20 years ago but I'm craving it again. Even if it's just an E-cigarette. Weird.

I'm guessing I just need to give this med change more time, see how things go. I have ECT again Dec. 4th and see Dr. M in office again on Dec. 11th.

10/26/17

Last night I went to my bipolar support group and I actually talked. The facilitator, B, was talking about how so many of us seem to be mourning our past, our lost selves, longing for how the way things used to be, how we used to be. I don't think I've ever thought of things that way. I said:

I've never thought of it like that but I can see how it could be true, wanting things to be the way they were before my illness. What I'm having trouble with right now though is looking ahead to my future. Knowing that I have to deal with my illness for the rest of my life . . . knowing that I'm spending every day right now fighting with my brain, fighting with my thoughts, fighting not to kill myself and I have to do this for the rest of my life. Is it really worth it? Is this really a life I want to continue to live?

I started to cry, though I kept myself from breaking down completely. People offered up what they do to cope and it was actually comforting to know that I wasn't the only one struggling all the time with suicidal thoughts. Sadly, I didn't hear anything I haven't already tried. There was no new information. Group continued and at the end B and the other facilitator came to check on me and see how I was doing and if I needed to go to the hospital. I got hugs and B gave me his number in case I needed help.

When I got home I told my hubby about the meeting and started crying again (I spent most of the day yesterday crying). I didn't sleep well last night. Everything was turning over and over in my head. Between last night and this morning I came to realize something - I don't like myself. Like, I really don't like myself. I don't like how I look. I hate my body, I hate my weight, I hate my hair, I hate how no matter what I do I can't get rid of my acne, I hate how despite eating healthy and working out I can't seem to lose weight. I hate my anger. I hate how anxious I get in crowds. I hate my anxiety in general. I hate how withdrawn I am all the time and how difficult it is for me to connect with anyone. I hate that I'm only able to work part time. I hate the strain I put on my family and friends with my illness. I hate that my I make my hubby feel guilty. I hate that I am a burden. More than anything . . .

I FUCKING HATE MY BIPOLAR DISORDER.

I have this sneaking suspicion that I'm not going to be able to move forward until I can learn to love and accept myself. Sad thing is I have no idea how to do that. I'm so damn good at hating myself. I can start with positive affirmations I guess. Repeated every morning when I wake up. Maybe I'll actually start to believe them.

I am beautiful.
I am strong. 
I am worth it. 
I am enough. 

That's all I have right now.

9/19/17

Well, here we are again. I was hoping to be writing happy things after having ECT a week ago but sadly that isn't the case. I've gotten worse. Exponentially worse.

Let's start with ECT. I talked with Dr. M both at ECT and at my appointment with him that evening (Monday the 11th). He thinks I went too long between sessions (5 weeks) and that I'm also naturally cycling. Wait it out. Okay. You'll get better. And then, last Tuesday and Wednesday I did feel a little better. A little less down and withdrawn. Yay!

Except it wasn't yay. Not really. Friday morning I woke up knowing something was wrong. I was moving more slowly . . . feeling just . . . not right. I went to work and my mood went downhill. I was terribly withdrawn and depressed and dark. I sat in the nurses station staring at my arm, tracing a line where I was going to cut. Instead of cutting I told a coworker, who told the charge nurse (my best friend) and she had me call my husband. I went home early.

My friend told me that it appeared that I had been rapid cycling the past few weeks and that it was becoming more noticeable. Not only to her.

Great.

I went home and laid down, contemplating going to the hospital as my desire to hurt myself was so strong. My husband stayed with me and we opted to stay home. I called in sick on Sunday and we went to the mountains to try and beat the depression. Saturday? Depressed. Monday? Depressed. And today? Depressed.

This is the can't-get-out-of-bed-in-the-morning depressed. The is the not wanting to exist anymore depressed. This is the sobbing uncotrollably because I feel so shitty depressed. I don't know what to do. I'm doing everything I know to do. And I just don't know. I'm worried that I'm going to hurt myself.

There's so much I want to write, so much I wish I could convey, but I don't have the motivation to get it out. It's been ridiculously hard to write what I've already go written. I'm going to go lay down until I have to pick up my son from school. At least if I sleep I don't have to feel - it's like death but without the commitment.

I'm Depressed Y'all

Well. It's been almost a full 2 months since I've written anything. I've had things to say, I just haven't said them. I haven't been inspired to write. But today I want to focus on what's bothering me now. And that's depression.

I'm in a trough right now, a deep depression. I don't even really know where to start. So here goes:

It started about 3-3.5 weeks ago, before my last ECT treatment. I started having symptoms of depression. They started out mild and then got worse after ECT (aren't they supposed to get better after ECT? Yeah, I thought so . . .). I kept downplaying them, ignoring them, hiding them. I was alright, this was no big thing. But they were so damn persistent. The negative thoughts became all encompassing, they started to take over. Suicidal thoughts crept in, vying for attention, slowly taking over. I let my hubby know, I let a couple of friends know. Just as a safeguard. Nothing serious, but this is going on, thought you should know. I continued to downplay it. I'd make it through.

Then last Saturday (the 25th) I was at work. And I was really struggling. I was so depressed. I was so empty and lost and withdrawn. My mind was complete chaos - negative thoughts, suicidal thoughts all crashing around, making it hard to concentrate, making it hard to breathe. I tried to keep up the facade. I tried interacting with patients, coworkers. I tried joking around. I tried. And then I lost it. I started crying. I started sobbing really. A coworker saw me and came over to help. She asked what was wrong. "I don't know if you know this," I said. "But I'm bipolar and I'm in a depressive episode and I'm having suicidal thoughts and I want to cut and I don't know what to do." She hugged me and told me to hold on. She went and told the charge nurse who called our manager. The charge nurse came up to me and hugged me and got me to calm down and suggested that I go home for the rest of the day. Even at my worst I've never been sent home. This was a first for me.

My hubby stayed with me the rest of the day. He stayed with me all day Sunday. Monday, I worked again. I wanted to go, I wanted to try. I made it through the day but it was difficult and tiring. I spoke with my manager and let her know what was going on. Tuesday I was home and I didn't get much accomplished. Wednesday I had a mandatory meeting at work which was difficult to sit through. I kept thinking about cutting and dying.

On Thursday I had therapy and I told my therapist everything. All about my suicidal thoughts, my plan, cutting, being sent home, everything. And I narrowly avoided being sent to the hospital for an inpatient psychiatric stay. How did I avoid it you ask? I have an amazing relationship with my therapist and we trust each other. I called my hubby and the 3 of us came up with a safety plan. I also called my psychiatrist's office and sadly learned that he is out of the country until the 11th. So no help there. I see my therapist again on Monday.

Here's the thing: My therapist said it and I'm positive my psychiatrist would say it too. I'm in a bipolar trough. The purpose of my meds and the ECT is to keep me as stable as possible for as long as possible but this is part of the natural ebb and flow of bipolar disorder. I'm going to have ups and downs and hopefully the meds will keep those ups and downs more mild and shorter lasting.

And I get that. I do. But I still call bullshit. It's easy to sit back and say that when you're not the one going through it. But when you're sitting on the floor sobbing, wishing your life would end, you don't care if this is the natural rhythm of your disorder. You just want to feel better. And that's where I'm at. I just want to fucking feel better. I don't want to "ride this out". It's been 3 weeks already. It might be another 3 weeks. Or longer. People keep telling me I'm strong for pulling through this. I don't feel strong. I feel weak. I feel like giving up. I have to deal with this for the rest of my life. And I'm not sure I can do that.

Mad World . . .

. . . and I find it kinda funny
I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying
Are the best I've ever had . . .

When you have bipolar disorder, and you're stable, you can be going along just fine, everything going well, and then out of the blue for no reason what-so-ever BOOM you're depressed again. Maybe the feeling goes away in a couple hours, or a couple of days . . . or maybe it hangs out for a few weeks. Who knows. But then you're stable again and everything is right as rain. And then maybe the same thing happens with mania. And again, maybe it only lasts a few hours, or a few days, or maybe it's a bitch and hangs out for a few weeks. The thing to remember is that bipolar disorder is unpredictable and a mood change can happen at any time for any reason, regardless of how stable you think you are.

This is something I seem to be forgetting. Forgetting and not accepting. See, I've been in a funk the past few weeks. Fuck it, lets call it what it is: I've been mildly depressed for the past few weeks. I had been stable - what I've been calling "normal" (yes, with the quotes) - for almost 3 months before this hit. It started subtle enough, some lack of motivation, feelings of emptiness, feeling down. And then it progressed. I became more withdrawn, more quick to anger, and my motivation completely left me. Fast forward to me today: feelings of depression, emptiness, worthlessness, sadness, hopelessness. Anger and annoyance escalating to rage with little to no provocation. No motivation, ridiculously withdrawn, and stupidly exhausted. I want to sleep to escape. I want to cut and I have. And I've had generalized suicidal thoughts (nothing serious and nothing specific).

I guess I should point something out - something important. I'm nowhere near as depressed as I was before this period of stability. I'm not. And I thank my lucky stars for that because I don't know if I could survive depression that deep again. No, this is more mild. I can get through my day. I can talk with people, joke with people even. I can still muster up a genuine smile. The thing is, everything is work. I have to force it.  At work, I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to take part in conversations. I want to hide away and be ignored. But I talk to people. I engage myself, I don't let myself hide. And it's so hard. It's tiring. But I do it.

See, I'm doing everything I've learned through CBT and DBT. I'm interacting, I'm writing, I'm drawing and painting (even though I mostly don't want to), I'm working out, I'm trying to eat healthy, I'm still doing things (even small things like jumping in a leaf pile because that's always fun). I'm doing everything I can to try and keep this depression from getting worse. I'm doing everything I can to try and end this depression. And to say I'm frustrated is an understatement. I'll be honest: I'm tired of dealing with bipolar disorder. I know I have to for the rest of my life and that's a bunch of bullshit.

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 41

I'm trapped in the darkness . . . lost in the shadows . . . I can see the light - I think - I just can't get to it. Instead, I'm left feeling my way, stumbling around blindly, hoping, praying, for a way out. The darkness is all consuming though, and even though I'm doing everything right, it has a strangle hold on me. And that little pin prick of light I see . . . it falters.

In case you haven't guessed it, I would appear to be in full blown depression again. It's been coming, slowly, over the past few weeks, and now its here, pressing, smothering, and all consuming. And it's not just that I feel "sad" or "down". Oh no. I feel as though life is no longer worth living. I want to kill myself and I have a plan. I feel hopeless and worthless and lost and empty and like I'm a burden on everyone around me. I don't feel joy or happiness - I try, I really fucking try - but I just . . . don't.

The frustrating part is that Im doing everything I should be doing. I take my meds, I go to therapy, I go to ECT, I still go to work, go to karate, interact with my friends, I don't isolate (even though I desperately want to), and I do everything CBT and DBT that I know how to do. I don't know what more to do. I feel like a failure. I feel like I'm letting people down, docs included (and then I counter those negative thoughts with things like, but you're not a failure, look how far you've come, you're strong and stubborn and you can do this!). And I don't see any trigger to this current depression. Nothing.

It's exhausting being me right now. My mind is a whirlwind of negative thoughts, a third to half of them suicidal. I feel as though I'm drowning in my thoughts, caught just below the surface, scrambling desperately to get my head above water but never quite making it. I try to ignore the thoughts, push them away. Or I acknowledge them, counter them, and move on. Or I discount them. Or, or, or . . . I'm in a constant argument with my own mind and that is fucking exhausting. You never know, until you have to do it yourself. Something good may happen - let's say my son makes me laugh - and I think yay! Something good! Oh really? my mind counters. You realize this won't last, don't you? You're still depressed. Your life still isn't worth living. You're always going to be like this. I stare off into space a minute, my mood dropping from my little break, as I scramble to counter what just flew threw my head. That's not true, I tell it. My husband and son make my life worth living. My friends, my job, my family . . . hell, my damn dog makes my life worth living. I think of good times, picture them in my head. Sometimes I write a gratitude list. Yeah. You keep telling yourself that.

I tell myself that it's just the depression talking, just the bipolar. That's not me. That's not how I am. And it's not. When I'm stable, when I'm not depressed, I don't have thoughts like that. I don't really even think about being bipolar. I feel so fucking different when I'm not depressed. That's how I know it's just the depression . . . but knowing that and telling myself that doesn't make it any easier to counter the negative thoughts, because, honestly, they're so fucking convincing.

One thing that scares me . . . I had a psychiatric PA I was seeing (before my current doc) tell me, "You're just going to be depressed and suicidal for the rest of your life and you need to learn how to deal with it." Number one, what the actual fuck, and number two, what the actual fuck?! That's not something you tell you're depressed, suicidal patient. But then, it makes me think: we can't seem to get my depression under control. If we do, it's for a very short period before it comes back. So what if there's some truth to that? But see, I can't think about it because that leads to a cascade of negative, suicidal thoughts. But it scares the ever living shit out of me. Because fuck man, what if that's true?

I don't ever bring that up in therapy or to my current doc because I'm worried they'll agree with it. I'm also worried that I've failed them, let them down, because I can't seem to fucking stay stable. I'm worried that they'll drop me as a patient, wash their hands of me, because I can't stay well.

I think I'm still struggling with what it truly means for me to be bipolar. I mean, maybe I get 12 days stable, then 20 or so with some mild depression and anger, and then I get the complete shit show for 2 or 3 weeks before going back to relatively stable. Maybe that's how bipolar works for me. Maybe a long period of stability just isn't in the cards for me. Which fuck, wouldn't that suck? Because when I'm low, I'm fucking low. I mean, I'm suicidal, I'm cutting, I'm withdrawn, I don't want to do things (though I force myself to), I'm no fun to be around, I'm a raging bitch . . . It's no way to live. 

But that's negative thinking. Counter that shit.

Butterflies and sparrows and little bunnies . . .

Day 37

Well. Today is day 37 "stable". "Stable". What a joke. I hate my version of "stable". Where I still struggle. Where I still have thoughts of suicide . . .

. . . which I did this morning. I was thinking about slitting my wrists, since I don't have access to any of my meds (hubby keeps them locked up). Rather than act on it I immediately told hubby what I was thinking and we talked about it.

I still want to cut though. God damn I want to cut.

Today, yesterday, and Friday have all been very difficult. They have been very rough. My mood has been, well, bad. And not just bad - I've been depressed, I've been irrationally angry, I've been lost. It is, quite frankly, not fucking fair.

On Friday I worked and I was irrationally angry (and then, of course, we were crazy busy to boot). I was doing a lot of counting in my head so that I wouldn't say something inappropriate (although several times I slipped and I did). At one point a pulse ox wasn't working right so I threw it on the ground and stomped on it while cussing loudly. I was snippy and rude to most everyone and I didn't enjoy any aspect of my job (delivering babies, in case you forgot).

On Saturday I woke up and knew it was going to be a bad day. I cried in the morning and wanted to give up right then and there. But I'm stubborn, you know, so I worked out and then hubby and I took our son to the penny arcade and out to eat. But I was snippy and quick to anger and overall just a big 'ol bitch. But I made it through the day.

Today has been more of the same. And I'm done with it. I'm really just so. Fucking. Tired of it all.

There's my rant for the day. Fuck I want to cut.

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.