I just kinda feel compelled to write right now. I'm not sure why. Maybe because I've been pouring over old blog posts looking for fodder for my book. Yes, I'm working on writing a book. I actually started it several years ago and didn't get very far with it. Well, I'm revisiting it with some fresh ideas and hoping to actually get it fleshed out. So yeah - I've been working on it for 4 hours now. Go me!
But I don't think that's what I really wanted to write about. No, I think not.
What is it then?
This horrible feeling of emptiness I can't seem to shake. That's what I want to write about. See, I can't seem to get rid of it. I feel so empty right now. I'm not really feeling anything. No good, not even anything really bad. Though when I do feel, it tends to be bad. I'm just existing. Barely. Everything around me is so thick and grey and oppressing. It's sludge. There's no color, no life.
I'm nothing.
I'm stuck.
I don't like feeling like this. This apathy. This anhedonia. Things that I enjoy? Like reading and painting? I don't enjoy anymore. I force myself to try . . . most often leading to failure which makes me feel worse.
I have therapy on Monday morning and I'm a little bit worried. See, I'm depressed, but am I depressed enough? And what, exactly, do I mean by that? See, people don't seem to care unless you're depressed enough. Suicidal enough. Manic enough. Who says it's enough? Hell if I know, but it seems to be a common thread. I'm mainly flat, withdrawn, down, and empty. Is that enough? I'm not suicidal, I'm not breaking down all the time, I'm still able to work. So, am I enough?
I'm worried that during therapy I won't be able to carry enough weight of the conversation. Because my depression is all I have to talk about. And I'm not horrible. And I know what I'm supposed to be doing and I'm doing those things. All those coping mechanisms form CBT and DBT that I learned so long ago . . . I do all those things. What more am I going to learn in therapy on Monday? That's what worries me. That I'm not enough for therapy, even though it's always been helpful to me.
I don't know why I'm so worried about this. But it's tearing me up inside, which is stupid, I know. I can't help it though. I mean come on - I'm tearing up as I type this. How stupid is that?
I just know that I'm tired of feeling like this. I know I can feel so much better - I've been there. I just need to figure out how to get back there.
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Showing posts with label suicide. Show all posts
Saturday, April 18, 2020
Thursday, July 4, 2019
Thursday 7/4/19
It's the 4th of July. Whoopie. I'm sitting on the couch listening to music, waiting for hubby's mom and brother to come over. So why not blog, right?
I actually feel like writing though. I feel like I need to get stuff out. I'm just not sure I can do it in a manner that makes sense.
Lets start with TMS. I met with Dr. H again on Tuesday. Hubby came. Dr. H informed me that he had spoken to my psychiatrist (Dr. M) and Dr. M believes my appropriate diagnosis is bipolar disorder. Meaning he won't change my diagnosis to depression in order for me to be approved for TMS. I understand. That would be fraud. But it sucks. Because, as Dr. H informed us, there is a 99.9% chance that insurance will NOT approve me for TMS. Then starts the appeal process. Dr. H said that I would not be approved at the 2nd tier of the process, but there's a small chance I could be approved at the 3rd tier when my case would be sent to a independent reviewer. This would take around 6 months. Six. Fucking. Months. Apparently the FDA is working on possibly approving bipolar disorder for TMS which would mean that my insurance would have to cover me. But again, that's 6 months to a year out and it's not guaranteed.
You have no idea how horrible I felt, sitting there listening to this news. My heart dropped. I felt hopeless and helpless.
Dr. H then began to tell us about another option: paying for TMS out of pocket. I put my head down. I know we can't afford this. But hubby asked, "How much?" Are you ready? $400 per treatment and the standard is 36 treatments. That's $14,400. Tears welled up in my eyes. Now, granted, that's not as much as I thought it was going to cost, but it's still $14,400 we don't have.
"If you're paying out of pocket we cut the cost in half," Dr. H said. "And we can set up a payment plan." Hubby sounded interested and started asking questions. I zoned out, head spinning, knowing that my hopes had been ripped from my hands.
We left, me in tears, so much so that hubby said he would drive us home. He said we would figure it out. Figure what out? I'm going to be denied coverage and we can't afford to pay out of pocket. I felt like screaming. Hubby started talking about our money in savings, about trying to sell more of my paintings, of starting a GoFundMe. He has all these ideas about how we could make it work. How yes, we truly can afford to pay out of pocket. He told me yesterday that he wants me to call Dr. H on Monday to get everything set up for me starting treatment.
He wants me to start treatment.
Here's where we come to the second thing I want to talk about: how I don't feel as though I'm worthy of going through treatment. I don't think I should. I'm already a burden, a drain, and now I'm going to be a financial burden. Again. Me being a financial burden is why we lost our house 4.5 years ago. I don't want a repeat. I don't want our family to struggle because of me.
This is eating me up inside. I truly don't think I'm worth the money. I don't think I'm worth the time or effort. I'm not worth it. This is me thinking I'd be better off dead. That everyone would be better off with me dead. I don't know how to reconcile this thinking. If I go through treatment with this mindset I'm sure to fail. I'm trying to counter all my negativity with positive thoughts. I'm trying not to catastrophize. I'm trying to remember all the good in my life, but these thoughts persist. I don't know what to do. I don't know why I don't feel worthy. I don't know why I feel as though I'm rubbish. I don't know why and I don't know what to do about it.
I have therapy coming up on Monday and my therapist definitely has his work cut out for him. I need to get this all sorted out. I need help. I need help.
I actually feel like writing though. I feel like I need to get stuff out. I'm just not sure I can do it in a manner that makes sense.
Lets start with TMS. I met with Dr. H again on Tuesday. Hubby came. Dr. H informed me that he had spoken to my psychiatrist (Dr. M) and Dr. M believes my appropriate diagnosis is bipolar disorder. Meaning he won't change my diagnosis to depression in order for me to be approved for TMS. I understand. That would be fraud. But it sucks. Because, as Dr. H informed us, there is a 99.9% chance that insurance will NOT approve me for TMS. Then starts the appeal process. Dr. H said that I would not be approved at the 2nd tier of the process, but there's a small chance I could be approved at the 3rd tier when my case would be sent to a independent reviewer. This would take around 6 months. Six. Fucking. Months. Apparently the FDA is working on possibly approving bipolar disorder for TMS which would mean that my insurance would have to cover me. But again, that's 6 months to a year out and it's not guaranteed.
You have no idea how horrible I felt, sitting there listening to this news. My heart dropped. I felt hopeless and helpless.
Dr. H then began to tell us about another option: paying for TMS out of pocket. I put my head down. I know we can't afford this. But hubby asked, "How much?" Are you ready? $400 per treatment and the standard is 36 treatments. That's $14,400. Tears welled up in my eyes. Now, granted, that's not as much as I thought it was going to cost, but it's still $14,400 we don't have.
"If you're paying out of pocket we cut the cost in half," Dr. H said. "And we can set up a payment plan." Hubby sounded interested and started asking questions. I zoned out, head spinning, knowing that my hopes had been ripped from my hands.
We left, me in tears, so much so that hubby said he would drive us home. He said we would figure it out. Figure what out? I'm going to be denied coverage and we can't afford to pay out of pocket. I felt like screaming. Hubby started talking about our money in savings, about trying to sell more of my paintings, of starting a GoFundMe. He has all these ideas about how we could make it work. How yes, we truly can afford to pay out of pocket. He told me yesterday that he wants me to call Dr. H on Monday to get everything set up for me starting treatment.
He wants me to start treatment.
Here's where we come to the second thing I want to talk about: how I don't feel as though I'm worthy of going through treatment. I don't think I should. I'm already a burden, a drain, and now I'm going to be a financial burden. Again. Me being a financial burden is why we lost our house 4.5 years ago. I don't want a repeat. I don't want our family to struggle because of me.
This is eating me up inside. I truly don't think I'm worth the money. I don't think I'm worth the time or effort. I'm not worth it. This is me thinking I'd be better off dead. That everyone would be better off with me dead. I don't know how to reconcile this thinking. If I go through treatment with this mindset I'm sure to fail. I'm trying to counter all my negativity with positive thoughts. I'm trying not to catastrophize. I'm trying to remember all the good in my life, but these thoughts persist. I don't know what to do. I don't know why I don't feel worthy. I don't know why I feel as though I'm rubbish. I don't know why and I don't know what to do about it.
I have therapy coming up on Monday and my therapist definitely has his work cut out for him. I need to get this all sorted out. I need help. I need help.
Monday, June 17, 2019
6/17/19
How to start . . .
I'll jump right in I guess.
I saw Dr. M today about my depression. And it went how I was fearing it would go. I should probably expand on that.
I told him how I've been feeling. Empty, depressed, hopeless. I told him it has been relentless and ongoing for the past 5 or so weeks. Before he could say anything I told him I'd prefer not to do ECT again. He looked at me for a full minute before speaking.
"You've been on practically every medication. And countless combos of those meds. All I can really recommend is ECT."
My stomach dropped. I don't know why though - that's exactly what I expected he would say. ECT. Electroconvulsive therapy. I did it for 3 years. Yes, I had improvement with it, but I also have had substantial memory issues.
"What about EsKetamine?" I asked.
"Well, there aren't any clinics in Colorado offering EsKetamine. It's too new, there's too much red tape, and it's too expensive," he replied. "You can try a regular ketamine infusion, but the cost for the 3 week treatment is around $2000 - $3000. It works for some people in the short term but it's pricey."
I felt even more defeated. Close to tears.
"You can try TMS (trans cranial magnetic stimulation). Studies have shown it to be effective, just not as much so as ECT. It's 5 days a week for 6 weeks, so you wouldn't be able to work probably. I can give you Dr. F's information if you're interested. See, it's just that you're treatment resistant and the best course of action for that is ECT. I'm sorry, I know that's not what you want to hear."
No, no that's not what I want to hear. I asked about Deplin, activated folic acid. He said I could try it but it probably wouldn't help. I asked about Rexulti. Again, it probably wouldn't help. It would replace my Vraylar and that med is the one that's helped me the most. So he would prefer not to stop it.
I'm stuck people. I don't know what to do. Do I take 6 weeks off from work and try TMS? Do I go back to ECT? Do I do nothing and wait it out, hoping the depression will lift of its own? The problem with waiting is that my depression tends not to go away on its own. It tends to hang around and get worse.
This is a bunch of bullshit, really. I don't know what to do. I cried in the parking lot, I cried while driving, I cried when I got home. I don't know what to do.
Fuck.
I'll jump right in I guess.
I saw Dr. M today about my depression. And it went how I was fearing it would go. I should probably expand on that.
I told him how I've been feeling. Empty, depressed, hopeless. I told him it has been relentless and ongoing for the past 5 or so weeks. Before he could say anything I told him I'd prefer not to do ECT again. He looked at me for a full minute before speaking.
"You've been on practically every medication. And countless combos of those meds. All I can really recommend is ECT."
My stomach dropped. I don't know why though - that's exactly what I expected he would say. ECT. Electroconvulsive therapy. I did it for 3 years. Yes, I had improvement with it, but I also have had substantial memory issues.
"What about EsKetamine?" I asked.
"Well, there aren't any clinics in Colorado offering EsKetamine. It's too new, there's too much red tape, and it's too expensive," he replied. "You can try a regular ketamine infusion, but the cost for the 3 week treatment is around $2000 - $3000. It works for some people in the short term but it's pricey."
I felt even more defeated. Close to tears.
"You can try TMS (trans cranial magnetic stimulation). Studies have shown it to be effective, just not as much so as ECT. It's 5 days a week for 6 weeks, so you wouldn't be able to work probably. I can give you Dr. F's information if you're interested. See, it's just that you're treatment resistant and the best course of action for that is ECT. I'm sorry, I know that's not what you want to hear."
No, no that's not what I want to hear. I asked about Deplin, activated folic acid. He said I could try it but it probably wouldn't help. I asked about Rexulti. Again, it probably wouldn't help. It would replace my Vraylar and that med is the one that's helped me the most. So he would prefer not to stop it.
I'm stuck people. I don't know what to do. Do I take 6 weeks off from work and try TMS? Do I go back to ECT? Do I do nothing and wait it out, hoping the depression will lift of its own? The problem with waiting is that my depression tends not to go away on its own. It tends to hang around and get worse.
This is a bunch of bullshit, really. I don't know what to do. I cried in the parking lot, I cried while driving, I cried when I got home. I don't know what to do.
Fuck.
Monday, February 25, 2019
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?
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?
Friday, December 7, 2018
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.
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.
Friday, November 30, 2018
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.
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.
Tuesday, November 6, 2018
11/6/18
Would you look at that! I blogged yesterday and I'm blogging again today. It's not very often that that happens. I usually have at least a couple of days in between.
Anyway, hubby asked me something last night that I really didn't know how to answer. I actually, kind of, well, lied. Only kind of though. I didn't totally lie, I guess. Of course, kind of lying is probably the same as regular lying when you really think about it.
So. Yeah. Hubby asked me if I had any optimism towards the future. And I answered him yes, not all the time but sometimes. The truth? The truth is that I really don't have any optimism towards the future. Well, maybe there are rare instances where I do. That's why my answer was only kind of a lie.
Him asking me that got me thinking though. How do I really feel about the future. I thought about it all night. I've been thinking about it today. And my view of the future is just so damn negative. It's hard for me to see any good in the future. And the sad thing is that I have an amazing husband, a wonderful son, and awesome friends, all of whom love me and care deeply about me. But all I see is chaos, depression, and uncertainty in my future.
See, I get to worry about all of the "normal" things (work, bills, retirement, the house, etc), but my bipolar disorder blows everything out of proportion and I overthink it to the extreme. Then I have to worry about my bipolar disorder itself (will my meds keep working, am I going to get worse, how will my memory be, will I eventually kill myself). This is all very depressing and exhausting and one of the reasons I try not to even think about the future. I try to stay in the present moment, in the here and now. It helps me get through my worst days and it helps keep good days good.
But seriously though. How horrible is this to have such a dreary outlook on the future? And I try not to! I really do! I try so hard to counter my negative thoughts with positive ones (in every aspect of my life), but it just doesn't seem to stick. My positive thoughts aren't strong enough to overpower the negative. I think that's just how I'm built. I think negativity is ingrained in my personality, which makes everything so much harder.
So. There you go. My "kind of" lie.
Anyway, hubby asked me something last night that I really didn't know how to answer. I actually, kind of, well, lied. Only kind of though. I didn't totally lie, I guess. Of course, kind of lying is probably the same as regular lying when you really think about it.
So. Yeah. Hubby asked me if I had any optimism towards the future. And I answered him yes, not all the time but sometimes. The truth? The truth is that I really don't have any optimism towards the future. Well, maybe there are rare instances where I do. That's why my answer was only kind of a lie.
Him asking me that got me thinking though. How do I really feel about the future. I thought about it all night. I've been thinking about it today. And my view of the future is just so damn negative. It's hard for me to see any good in the future. And the sad thing is that I have an amazing husband, a wonderful son, and awesome friends, all of whom love me and care deeply about me. But all I see is chaos, depression, and uncertainty in my future.
See, I get to worry about all of the "normal" things (work, bills, retirement, the house, etc), but my bipolar disorder blows everything out of proportion and I overthink it to the extreme. Then I have to worry about my bipolar disorder itself (will my meds keep working, am I going to get worse, how will my memory be, will I eventually kill myself). This is all very depressing and exhausting and one of the reasons I try not to even think about the future. I try to stay in the present moment, in the here and now. It helps me get through my worst days and it helps keep good days good.
But seriously though. How horrible is this to have such a dreary outlook on the future? And I try not to! I really do! I try so hard to counter my negative thoughts with positive ones (in every aspect of my life), but it just doesn't seem to stick. My positive thoughts aren't strong enough to overpower the negative. I think that's just how I'm built. I think negativity is ingrained in my personality, which makes everything so much harder.
So. There you go. My "kind of" lie.
Tuesday, October 30, 2018
10/30/18
Look at that. It's the day before Halloween. My favorite holiday. Normally I would be excited - getting my costume ready, putting up the last minute decorations for the trick-or-treaters . . . But this year I don't care. Why?
Depression.
I've been depressed again for the past month and it keeps getting worse. It keeps getting deeper and darker and more all encompassing. I feel like Hell warmed over. Honestly, probably not even that good.
I'm really struggling right now. I keep telling myself that I'm not as depressed as I think I am, as I feel I am. Really, I'm not that depressed. But then I'm driving home from work (early, because I couldn't handle being there), and I think the logical thing to do is to go home and take a boatload of pills so I can just end it all. And I'm so indifferent to this thought that it makes me realize that I am as depressed as I think I am. I mean, thinking about killing myself garnered the same emotional response as thinking about taking a crap! How fucked up is that??
Here's the thing: fighting depression is exhausting. It is straight up, fucking exhausting. And I have to fight it every day. Every. Single. Day. Cognitively I know I'll get through it. I always have in the past. I make it through. It's just that I never know how long a particular bout of depression will last. Will it be 3 weeks or 3 months? Who knows. And that's the hard part - even though I know I'll get through it, it doesn't feel like I will. It feels like it will last forever, no end in sight. And that just adds to the exhaustion. And then when it finally does pass, I know, in the back of my head, that it will be back, it's just a matter of time.
That's a problem for me. Knowing that I'll be battling my depression for the rest of my life. It gives me such a bleak outlook. And it makes me tired. So tired. I don't know how much longer I can keep up the fight. It would be so much easier to give in . . . give up . . .
I think about this all the time. Because I am so tired. I've told people before that one of the things that keeps me going is knowing that I can still end it at any point. Which is very morbid, I know, but it's the truth.
Luckily I have my hubby and my son who stand behind me and keep me going. If not for them . . . well . . . I'm sure you get the idea. I'm very thankful for them.
Now if I can just make it through this current bout of depression . . .
Depression.
I've been depressed again for the past month and it keeps getting worse. It keeps getting deeper and darker and more all encompassing. I feel like Hell warmed over. Honestly, probably not even that good.
I'm really struggling right now. I keep telling myself that I'm not as depressed as I think I am, as I feel I am. Really, I'm not that depressed. But then I'm driving home from work (early, because I couldn't handle being there), and I think the logical thing to do is to go home and take a boatload of pills so I can just end it all. And I'm so indifferent to this thought that it makes me realize that I am as depressed as I think I am. I mean, thinking about killing myself garnered the same emotional response as thinking about taking a crap! How fucked up is that??
Here's the thing: fighting depression is exhausting. It is straight up, fucking exhausting. And I have to fight it every day. Every. Single. Day. Cognitively I know I'll get through it. I always have in the past. I make it through. It's just that I never know how long a particular bout of depression will last. Will it be 3 weeks or 3 months? Who knows. And that's the hard part - even though I know I'll get through it, it doesn't feel like I will. It feels like it will last forever, no end in sight. And that just adds to the exhaustion. And then when it finally does pass, I know, in the back of my head, that it will be back, it's just a matter of time.
That's a problem for me. Knowing that I'll be battling my depression for the rest of my life. It gives me such a bleak outlook. And it makes me tired. So tired. I don't know how much longer I can keep up the fight. It would be so much easier to give in . . . give up . . .
I think about this all the time. Because I am so tired. I've told people before that one of the things that keeps me going is knowing that I can still end it at any point. Which is very morbid, I know, but it's the truth.
Luckily I have my hubby and my son who stand behind me and keep me going. If not for them . . . well . . . I'm sure you get the idea. I'm very thankful for them.
Now if I can just make it through this current bout of depression . . .
Wednesday, October 17, 2018
10/17/18
There's something that worries me that I've been thinking more and more about. Something that keeps me awake at night. Something that my mind keeps creeping back to over and over. Something that, no matter how hard I try, I keep ruminating over.
I'm wondering what's going to happen with me in the future. And I'm not talking about in the next year or two - no. I'm talking 10 or more years from now. I'm thinking about where will we be living, will I still be working, where will I be working, will A still be living at home . . . I think about do J and I have enough for retirement, are we still going to be renting, or will we own a house at that point?
All valid points to think/worry about. But then I also worry about how much worse my bipolar is going to be. And if I'm actually going to make it another 10 years dealing with this illness. I look at how I am now, and how I feel like I'm failing. I look at my memory issues I have now and how those are getting progressively worse. I look at how I struggle. I look at how frequently I have suicidal thoughts and I worry. I worry that I'm not going to make it. I worry because one of the things that keeps me going is knowing that I could end it at any point . . .
What a horrible thought.
But it's true.
I worry about losing my job. We can't afford not to have my income and it's through my job that we have health insurance. Without health insurance we can't afford my medications let alone my ECT treatments. What would I do then? Not to mention that my job gives me a sense of self and a sense of purpose.
I'm not even sure how to write about all of this. About how much I worry. I don't think I can adequately get it out. It's jumbled up inside my head, whirling and twirling and jostling for attention, taking up so much space and energy and driving me batty.
I've been sitting here staring at the screen for about 10 minutes, trying to think of something else to write, something else to say. But I can't think of anything. My mind is a mess right now. Hell, my mind is a mess most of the time. Today though, it's particularly bad. Oh well. I guess this will do for now.
I'm wondering what's going to happen with me in the future. And I'm not talking about in the next year or two - no. I'm talking 10 or more years from now. I'm thinking about where will we be living, will I still be working, where will I be working, will A still be living at home . . . I think about do J and I have enough for retirement, are we still going to be renting, or will we own a house at that point?
All valid points to think/worry about. But then I also worry about how much worse my bipolar is going to be. And if I'm actually going to make it another 10 years dealing with this illness. I look at how I am now, and how I feel like I'm failing. I look at my memory issues I have now and how those are getting progressively worse. I look at how I struggle. I look at how frequently I have suicidal thoughts and I worry. I worry that I'm not going to make it. I worry because one of the things that keeps me going is knowing that I could end it at any point . . .
What a horrible thought.
But it's true.
I worry about losing my job. We can't afford not to have my income and it's through my job that we have health insurance. Without health insurance we can't afford my medications let alone my ECT treatments. What would I do then? Not to mention that my job gives me a sense of self and a sense of purpose.
I'm not even sure how to write about all of this. About how much I worry. I don't think I can adequately get it out. It's jumbled up inside my head, whirling and twirling and jostling for attention, taking up so much space and energy and driving me batty.
I've been sitting here staring at the screen for about 10 minutes, trying to think of something else to write, something else to say. But I can't think of anything. My mind is a mess right now. Hell, my mind is a mess most of the time. Today though, it's particularly bad. Oh well. I guess this will do for now.
Friday, October 5, 2018
10/5/18
It's 10:52am. I'm sitting on my couch staring at the screen trying to come up with something to write. See, If I write what I'm feeling, this post will be pretty damn negative. But I can't come up with anything positive to write. I'm kind of stuck.
I've been pretty crappy since my last post. I've worked twice and had to convince everyone that I was fine. I've been overwhelmed, I've cried . . . the usual depression stuff. I can officially say that I'm depressed. There's no more pussy footing around it. I'm depressed. I'm so depressed that I don't really have an appetite so I haven't really been eating much. Which has caused me to lose 3 pounds in the last week.
Yay! Weight loss!
I'd much rather not be depressed.
I've had the support of my husband, my friends, and my coworkers. They've all been great. It's just that I can't seem to pull myself out of this slump. I'm trying to stay positive and not catastrophize and counter all of my negative thoughts . . . but it's not helping. I'm still depressed. I still want to curl up in a ball and not exist. I think about killing myself every day - these are the hardest thoughts to counter. They're so strong and so insistent. And I don't know what else to do. I guess just plow through, head down and stubborn. It's all I can do.
I hate this so much.
I've been pretty crappy since my last post. I've worked twice and had to convince everyone that I was fine. I've been overwhelmed, I've cried . . . the usual depression stuff. I can officially say that I'm depressed. There's no more pussy footing around it. I'm depressed. I'm so depressed that I don't really have an appetite so I haven't really been eating much. Which has caused me to lose 3 pounds in the last week.
Yay! Weight loss!
I'd much rather not be depressed.
I've had the support of my husband, my friends, and my coworkers. They've all been great. It's just that I can't seem to pull myself out of this slump. I'm trying to stay positive and not catastrophize and counter all of my negative thoughts . . . but it's not helping. I'm still depressed. I still want to curl up in a ball and not exist. I think about killing myself every day - these are the hardest thoughts to counter. They're so strong and so insistent. And I don't know what else to do. I guess just plow through, head down and stubborn. It's all I can do.
I hate this so much.
Monday, October 1, 2018
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.
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.
Tuesday, September 25, 2018
9/25/18
It's my birthday today. Can you sense the excitement? Don't worry if you can't - it's not there. And it's not because "oh no I'm a year older"! Honestly that doesn't phase me at all. No, it's because I'm still feeling depressed.
You know, depressed isn't really the right word. When I think of me being depressed, I think of sobbing and wanting to die and cutting myself and utter, bleak hopelessness. I'm not there yet. I'm, I don't know, more mild depression I guess. I feel down and flat and withdrawn and lost and yes, a little hopeless. I don't feel sad. I feel anhedonic. I really feel flat. I'm just kind of emotionless except for anger and annoyance.
I feel tired. Exhausted really. Keeping my mental health in check is hard work. Not to mention that I only average around 5 hours of sleep a night (thank you brain and bladder). The exhaustion isn't just physical though - it's mostly mental and emotional, which sleep doesn't fix (although you best believe I try to fix it with sleep - I nap all the fucking time).
So today is my 9th day of feeling like crap again. After almost 3 months of being stable. Which leads me to believe that I'm heading into another episode. I'm trying not to believe that. Hubby is trying to get me not to believe that. My coworkers and friends are trying to get me not to believe that. But secretly? I believe that.
I'm trying to stay positive and counter and crush all of my negative thoughts. I'm trying to remind myself that I was stable and happy before, I can be that way again. I'm trying to stay busy and do things that I usually enjoy doing. I'm reading my positive affirmations. And you know what?
It's not working.
I'm just sort of . . . stuck. I don't know what to do other than ride this out and hope it doesn't last or get worse. What more can I do?
Anyway, happy birthday to me.
You know, depressed isn't really the right word. When I think of me being depressed, I think of sobbing and wanting to die and cutting myself and utter, bleak hopelessness. I'm not there yet. I'm, I don't know, more mild depression I guess. I feel down and flat and withdrawn and lost and yes, a little hopeless. I don't feel sad. I feel anhedonic. I really feel flat. I'm just kind of emotionless except for anger and annoyance.
I feel tired. Exhausted really. Keeping my mental health in check is hard work. Not to mention that I only average around 5 hours of sleep a night (thank you brain and bladder). The exhaustion isn't just physical though - it's mostly mental and emotional, which sleep doesn't fix (although you best believe I try to fix it with sleep - I nap all the fucking time).
So today is my 9th day of feeling like crap again. After almost 3 months of being stable. Which leads me to believe that I'm heading into another episode. I'm trying not to believe that. Hubby is trying to get me not to believe that. My coworkers and friends are trying to get me not to believe that. But secretly? I believe that.
I'm trying to stay positive and counter and crush all of my negative thoughts. I'm trying to remind myself that I was stable and happy before, I can be that way again. I'm trying to stay busy and do things that I usually enjoy doing. I'm reading my positive affirmations. And you know what?
It's not working.
I'm just sort of . . . stuck. I don't know what to do other than ride this out and hope it doesn't last or get worse. What more can I do?
Anyway, happy birthday to me.
Monday, July 9, 2018
7/9/18
Do you know what's funny? I have therapy this Thursday (the 12th) and I'm not sure what I'm going to talk about. The last time I saw M I was still very much depressed. Then I had ECT last week and started feeling better. I even got a little hypomanic one day. Now I'm just flat. Though I'm trying not to be.
I had a few good days but now I'm back to being flat. I think I'm quicker to laugh than I was before, and I think I'm feeling more genuine emotion than I was before (although it's difficult for me to do so), but I'm still overall flat. I'm trying to get excited about things, like my communication books and CBT book I ordered.
You know what though? What's frustrating to no end? I'm still having suicidal thoughts. They're really bad today. Like, nearly constant today. I'm so sick of them. I'm so sick of picturing my death in detail. I'm so sick of picturing the aftermath, cause I do think about that too. It's really fucking annoying. I try countering the thoughts, I try thinking about something else and my mind always comes back to suicide. I'm not suicidal though - there's no intent right now. I'm not going to do anything. My mind is just an asshole and hates me.
I'm struggling with getting up in the mornings. Mainly the mornings I have off. I don't want to get up. I have no desire, no motivation. I'm slow moving. I don't get anything done. I just can't. I hate it. I know part of the problem is that I feel that things are pointless. So why get up? Nothing has any meaning or point to it . . .
Anyway, aside from the suicidal thoughts I think overall I'm better than I was before I had ECT last Monday. Something to be thankful for. And I am. I just wish I could get my drive back (especially for exercise) and quit it with the suicidal thoughts. Cause those can ruin a mood.
I had a few good days but now I'm back to being flat. I think I'm quicker to laugh than I was before, and I think I'm feeling more genuine emotion than I was before (although it's difficult for me to do so), but I'm still overall flat. I'm trying to get excited about things, like my communication books and CBT book I ordered.
You know what though? What's frustrating to no end? I'm still having suicidal thoughts. They're really bad today. Like, nearly constant today. I'm so sick of them. I'm so sick of picturing my death in detail. I'm so sick of picturing the aftermath, cause I do think about that too. It's really fucking annoying. I try countering the thoughts, I try thinking about something else and my mind always comes back to suicide. I'm not suicidal though - there's no intent right now. I'm not going to do anything. My mind is just an asshole and hates me.
I'm struggling with getting up in the mornings. Mainly the mornings I have off. I don't want to get up. I have no desire, no motivation. I'm slow moving. I don't get anything done. I just can't. I hate it. I know part of the problem is that I feel that things are pointless. So why get up? Nothing has any meaning or point to it . . .
Anyway, aside from the suicidal thoughts I think overall I'm better than I was before I had ECT last Monday. Something to be thankful for. And I am. I just wish I could get my drive back (especially for exercise) and quit it with the suicidal thoughts. Cause those can ruin a mood.
Saturday, May 19, 2018
5/19/18
So you know, I've been pretty stable over the last month, except when I haven't been. I've been mostly stable, with a couple little blips here and there.
Damn you know what? This is completely off subject but I'm sitting here on my couch and the heat just kicked on and it smells like my damn dog. Like my icky dog's scent is coming out of the vents. How gross is that? Now the whole house smells like my dog. Ugh.
Anyway, back to these blips.
I had one dysphoric hypomanic blip that only lasted a day. Thank goodness, cause I'm a real bitch when I'm like that. Then, last Saturday night I apparently forgot to take my pills. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
I worked on Sunday, Mother's Day, and I was horribly depressed. Like hiding, sobbing uncontrollably, cutting myself, suicidal thoughts . . . it was bad. All for forgetting to take my pills one freaking night. This whole past week I've been recovering from that little episode. And it's been harder than I thought. But I'm doing it, slowly but surely.
On a plus note, I've taken care of some really awesome patients. I'm thinking I'm going to start writing about them. We'll see how that goes.
Damn you know what? This is completely off subject but I'm sitting here on my couch and the heat just kicked on and it smells like my damn dog. Like my icky dog's scent is coming out of the vents. How gross is that? Now the whole house smells like my dog. Ugh.
Anyway, back to these blips.
I had one dysphoric hypomanic blip that only lasted a day. Thank goodness, cause I'm a real bitch when I'm like that. Then, last Saturday night I apparently forgot to take my pills. No big deal, right?
Wrong.
I worked on Sunday, Mother's Day, and I was horribly depressed. Like hiding, sobbing uncontrollably, cutting myself, suicidal thoughts . . . it was bad. All for forgetting to take my pills one freaking night. This whole past week I've been recovering from that little episode. And it's been harder than I thought. But I'm doing it, slowly but surely.
On a plus note, I've taken care of some really awesome patients. I'm thinking I'm going to start writing about them. We'll see how that goes.
Sunday, March 4, 2018
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.
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.
Monday, February 5, 2018
2/5/18
I'm sitting here on my couch as I write this, wishing I was in bed, asleep. I'm not tired, mind you, I just don't want to deal with how I'm feeling. See, sleep is like death but without the commitment. Though I'm longing for the commitment . . .
I'm feeling so empty and drained and hollow, like the husk of who I should be. There's just this void inside me where everything should be. I'm going through the motions of life without really feeling anything. I've been rather flat and withdrawn lately, although I'm trying desperately not to be. And I think I'm putting on a good show as everyone around me thinks I'm doing okay.
If only they knew . . .
The funny thing is is that I wouldn't necessarily call myself depressed right now. I'm not quite like how I usually am when I get depressed. Perhaps I'm on my way there, I don't know. This is more of a "confused-hanging-in-limbo" state. I have some symptoms of depression but I also seem rather stable still. Like, I want to die, but I know that's just my brain lying to me.
I don't know what to do with this state though. Nothing is enjoyable to me. Not reading or painting or writing . . . I don't want to do anything except lay in bed.
Jeremy says I do this. That I'm stable for 3-4 months and then I drop into a depression for several weeks to a month or two despite what meds I'm on, despite my ECT. Maybe he's right. Maybe this is just my natural pattern. Maybe I'm not in full blown depression because of the new med I'm on. I have no clue. All I know for certain is that I hate feeling like this. Why can't I be manic every 3-4 months? I call bullshit on this. Why can't I just be manic at all??
Despite any of this, all I know is that I'm struggling right now, regardless of what people think.
I'm feeling so empty and drained and hollow, like the husk of who I should be. There's just this void inside me where everything should be. I'm going through the motions of life without really feeling anything. I've been rather flat and withdrawn lately, although I'm trying desperately not to be. And I think I'm putting on a good show as everyone around me thinks I'm doing okay.
If only they knew . . .
The funny thing is is that I wouldn't necessarily call myself depressed right now. I'm not quite like how I usually am when I get depressed. Perhaps I'm on my way there, I don't know. This is more of a "confused-hanging-in-limbo" state. I have some symptoms of depression but I also seem rather stable still. Like, I want to die, but I know that's just my brain lying to me.
I don't know what to do with this state though. Nothing is enjoyable to me. Not reading or painting or writing . . . I don't want to do anything except lay in bed.
Jeremy says I do this. That I'm stable for 3-4 months and then I drop into a depression for several weeks to a month or two despite what meds I'm on, despite my ECT. Maybe he's right. Maybe this is just my natural pattern. Maybe I'm not in full blown depression because of the new med I'm on. I have no clue. All I know for certain is that I hate feeling like this. Why can't I be manic every 3-4 months? I call bullshit on this. Why can't I just be manic at all??
Despite any of this, all I know is that I'm struggling right now, regardless of what people think.
Thursday, October 26, 2017
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.
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.
Wednesday, October 25, 2017
10/25/17
I'm sitting on my couch wondering what I should do with my day. I haven't done anything all morning except drink coffee and scroll through social media. I should workout, I should, but I just can't seem to do it. I don't have the drive, the motivation, the energy. In my current state of mind I just don't care.
I'm near tears right now. So close to completely breaking down and crying. I'll be sitting here, empty and dead inside, but seemingly okay, and then BAM! Out of nowhere I'm hit with this wave of horrible feelings and thoughts. It's literally like this wave that violently washes over me, knocking me down, rendering me helpless and leaving me gasping for air. I suddenly feel worthless and hopeless, depressed and full of despair. I see no light, no color, only darkness. My mind races with terrible thoughts.
I am nothing. Nobody cares about me. I'm fat and disgusting. Noone would miss me if I'm gone. I'd be better off dead. I should really kill myself.
Over and over and over again. I see images of me slitting my wrists or downing all of my pills. My brain tells me my hubby and son would get over my death, they'd move on and be better off and happy. I try to silence these thoughts, stop them in their tracks. I counter them at every turn but it's no use. The thoughts and feelings win. I'm left sobbing and hurting and confused. I curl up in a ball and try to sleep as sleep is my only escape. I can't always sleep though. Maybe I'm at work when the wave hits, or the grocery store.
The past few days the wave has been coming more frequently. It is unrelentless. It is persistant. It is making me question my strength and my resolve. I don't want to feel like this anymore but I don't know what else to do. I know I don't really want to kill myself but I'm worried that my brain will convince me otherwise. I need help.
I'm near tears right now. So close to completely breaking down and crying. I'll be sitting here, empty and dead inside, but seemingly okay, and then BAM! Out of nowhere I'm hit with this wave of horrible feelings and thoughts. It's literally like this wave that violently washes over me, knocking me down, rendering me helpless and leaving me gasping for air. I suddenly feel worthless and hopeless, depressed and full of despair. I see no light, no color, only darkness. My mind races with terrible thoughts.
I am nothing. Nobody cares about me. I'm fat and disgusting. Noone would miss me if I'm gone. I'd be better off dead. I should really kill myself.
Over and over and over again. I see images of me slitting my wrists or downing all of my pills. My brain tells me my hubby and son would get over my death, they'd move on and be better off and happy. I try to silence these thoughts, stop them in their tracks. I counter them at every turn but it's no use. The thoughts and feelings win. I'm left sobbing and hurting and confused. I curl up in a ball and try to sleep as sleep is my only escape. I can't always sleep though. Maybe I'm at work when the wave hits, or the grocery store.
The past few days the wave has been coming more frequently. It is unrelentless. It is persistant. It is making me question my strength and my resolve. I don't want to feel like this anymore but I don't know what else to do. I know I don't really want to kill myself but I'm worried that my brain will convince me otherwise. I need help.
Monday, October 23, 2017
10/23/17
I've been struggling quite a bit with my recent depression and mixed episode or rapid cycling . . . whatever you want to call it. Mostly it's been the depression, as it always is. That damn depression . . .
It's been bad since September. Really bad I mean. Suicidal bad. Missing work bad.
I'm at this point where I step back and look at my illness, my bipolar disorder, and I see it for what it is: an illness that I'm going to have for the rest of my life. An illness that I'll never be symptom free from. I'll always have ups and downs at random and the goal of treatment is to keep these to a minimum or less intense or shorter in duration. But I'm always going to be fighting this illness. Always. And honestly, that's a hard pill to swallow. See, even on my days where I'm okay I still have symptoms. I still have depression. I still have anxiety. I still deal with the chaotic environment that is my mind.
People tell me that I'm strong, that I'll make it through, that I can do this. Those people are wrong. I'm not strong. I'm not living, people. I'm existing. I'm going through the motions. Everything is grey and dull and just . . . just pointless. Nothing matters, not really. It doesn't really matter if I'm dead or alive because nothing I do makes a difference. My hubby tells me that this is the depression lying to me. Maybe it is. But these thoughts circulate through my head every single fucking day. They're nearly constant. And don't worry - I'm a good girl and I counter them and actively fight them and use all the CBT and DBT techniques I've learned over the years. But it's tiring and I feel so empty and lost and hopeless. I'm trying guys, I really am. I'm trying to find happiness in the little things but I never truly feel happy - not really. Or it's so short livied that I wonder if it even really happened.
I don't know what more to do because I can't keep doing what I'm doing, not for long. I'm at the point now where I want to give up. Throw in the towel and stop fighting. This is getting to be too much. And I get to deal with it the rest of my life . . . why bother?
This is a pretty down post, I know. But this is where I'm at right now. I don't have ECT again until Nov. 6th and the earliest I could get in to see my psychiatrist is Nov. 16th . . . so I'm kind of fucked. And I'll be honest, I don't have much hope. I'm not sure I have any. But I keep pushing and I keep trying because I have my husband and son to think about. They're the only reason I'm still here.
It's been bad since September. Really bad I mean. Suicidal bad. Missing work bad.
I'm at this point where I step back and look at my illness, my bipolar disorder, and I see it for what it is: an illness that I'm going to have for the rest of my life. An illness that I'll never be symptom free from. I'll always have ups and downs at random and the goal of treatment is to keep these to a minimum or less intense or shorter in duration. But I'm always going to be fighting this illness. Always. And honestly, that's a hard pill to swallow. See, even on my days where I'm okay I still have symptoms. I still have depression. I still have anxiety. I still deal with the chaotic environment that is my mind.
People tell me that I'm strong, that I'll make it through, that I can do this. Those people are wrong. I'm not strong. I'm not living, people. I'm existing. I'm going through the motions. Everything is grey and dull and just . . . just pointless. Nothing matters, not really. It doesn't really matter if I'm dead or alive because nothing I do makes a difference. My hubby tells me that this is the depression lying to me. Maybe it is. But these thoughts circulate through my head every single fucking day. They're nearly constant. And don't worry - I'm a good girl and I counter them and actively fight them and use all the CBT and DBT techniques I've learned over the years. But it's tiring and I feel so empty and lost and hopeless. I'm trying guys, I really am. I'm trying to find happiness in the little things but I never truly feel happy - not really. Or it's so short livied that I wonder if it even really happened.
I don't know what more to do because I can't keep doing what I'm doing, not for long. I'm at the point now where I want to give up. Throw in the towel and stop fighting. This is getting to be too much. And I get to deal with it the rest of my life . . . why bother?
This is a pretty down post, I know. But this is where I'm at right now. I don't have ECT again until Nov. 6th and the earliest I could get in to see my psychiatrist is Nov. 16th . . . so I'm kind of fucked. And I'll be honest, I don't have much hope. I'm not sure I have any. But I keep pushing and I keep trying because I have my husband and son to think about. They're the only reason I'm still here.
Tuesday, September 19, 2017
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)