Wednesday 3/9/22 Down

 I'm feeling pretty crappy today. Down, depressed, and blah. I woke up feeling this way. I felt this way yesterday. I'm hoping I don't feel this way tomorrow. 

I think I know part of the reason I'm feeling depressed - because I feel guilty. I feel guilty because I bought a 16 week workout plan to try something different to get in shape (it was $67 - so it's not like it broke the bank, but still). So why does that make me feel guilty? Because it was an impulse buy. And I keep impulse buying things. Like protein powder. I have 6 months worth of protein powder (or more). Or supplements. I keep trying different supplements. Or vitamin water. I keep impulse buying things that I don't really need (now, I use protein powder every day, along with the vitamin water . . . but I don't need so much of it). It's a problem. A real problem. Jeremy has pointed this out to me numerous times. And I know it's a problem. Little purchases add up. I need to stop. But it's like I can't. It's like my brain is being hijacked. I buy because I think it'll make me feel better. I get a little dopamine rush when I purchase something, and then another little rush when the item comes in the mail. It is, quite frankly, like an addiction. One that I need to stop. 

Why am I like this? Why do I have to be this way?? I hate it about myself. And I beat myself up over it and that makes me feel worse. Then what happens? I buy something to try and make myself feel better and the cycle starts again. I see this happening. I know it's happening. And I can't seem to stop it. I don't know how to stop it. I guess I'm going to start asking Jeremy every time before I buy something. Ask permission almost. Because then maybe he can talk some sense into me. Though I'm embarrassed to have to do that. Which makes me feel worse. I hate this. So. Much. I hate that I'm like this. Weak. 

In other news, I'm going to be volunteering at the riding center again. It's now called Stable Strides (it used to be Pikes Peak Therapeutic Riding Center). So I'm going to be volunteering, working with kids with disabilities and playing with horses. I'm very much looking forward to it. Mainly the playing with horses part, if I'm honest. But it'll be good for me. Of course, much to Jeremy's dismay, I'll need to buy a couple of volunteer shirts to wear on the days that I'm there. And I'd like a hoodie for the chilly days (there I go, spending more money). My orientation is on April 2nd (I need to go through orientation again because it's been 6 years since I volunteered there). 

I also decided on a design for my next tattoo, the one to cover my self harm scars - it'll be Chance, my therapy horse. He was my special boy and I think that he'll be perfect to cover my scars. I did a quick painting of how I want it to look - grey scale with just a hint of color on Chance's halter and the cherry blossoms. 

Here's the original photo:

I don't know when I'll be able to get it done, however. I just got a new tattoo last week, and we're having to rebuild our deck. So it may be awhile. That's okay though - I can wait. Maybe a little impatiently, but I can wait. 

And I need to stop buying things in order for me to be able to get it. That's a stipulation I'm putting on myself. If I want my new tattoo I can't impulse buy stuff. And I need to check with Jeremy before I buy anything. Two stipulations. That I must follow. 

Anyway, I guess that's all. I hate myself right now and I feel like crap. 

Thursday 3/3/22 Yeah . . .

 So today my mood is crap and I don't know why. There's no reason for it to be crap, but it is, and I'm over it. Last night I was looking forward to today because I was going to draw and paint and read and it was going to be good. And then I woke up. And it wasn't good. I did 4 drawings of horses - which seems like a lot - but that's all I did. No painting. No motivation. No desire. So I decided to scan all my recent paintings into the computer. All, like, 30 of them. And then I posted 20 to Etsy. Which took up a great deal of time. I didn't want to do it but it needed to be done and it was something to keep me busy and from napping. Then, I sat outside for 20 minutes - it's 70 degrees here today in Colorado. But it did nothing for my mood. And now, now I'm writing. 

I've been reading a book on complex PTSD for adults who grew up in a neglectful or abusive home. Several years ago when I went to Boston to see a bipolar specialist (Dr. Brian Schulman), he stated that he thought I had CPTSD due to growing up in an alcoholic home. And from being a nurse. But mostly from growing up in a neglectful, alcoholic home. So I ordered this book and have been reading it. And it's interesting because it describes my behavior quite well. I want to write about it but my thoughts are all jumbled up. I don't think I can get them out coherently. But this book really got me thinking. 

See, my mom and dad both were alcoholics. They divorced when I was very young - maybe when I was 5 years old or so (I'm not entirely sure). My brother and I lived with my mom during the week and would see our dad on the weekends. Already, without alcohol involved, that creates instability. Then throw in my mom drinking every night - often to the point of passing out. My brother and I were left to fend for ourselves. For as much as I can remember, my dad didn't drink when we were around. He did during the week, but not on the weekends when he had us. My step mom has told me how I was always a ball of tightly wound stress when they would pick us up. And how by the time we were being dropped off back with my mom I had started to unwind. Only to become a tightly wound up ball of stress again. 

Living with an alcoholic is not fun. Especially when it's a parent who's supposed to love and care for you and does the opposite. Not that my mom didn't love us - I'm sure she does and did in her own way - but she most definitely neglected us. She chose alcohol - again and again - over her own children. She was not very loving. Ever. She did - and still does - show her affection through money. She would buy us little things, or say she was going to buy us something, as a way of "showing her love". 

My brother and I were raised by the TV and video games. We were latchkey kids. Now don't get me wrong - I know my mom worked hard to provide for us. Being a single mother isn't easy by any stretch of the word, I get that. But she was either physically absent (at work), or mentally absent (drunk). Being home with her was worse than being alone. Me, being the oldest, often had to take care of her. Make dinner, get her, myself and my brother to bed. Clean up. My brother and I begged her daily to stop drinking. We would find her vodka (vodka and Kool Aid was her drink of choice - still is) and pour it down the drain. She'd have cups of alcohol hidden all over the house that my brother and I would find and get rid of. Only to have her buy more the next day and the process would start all over again. Sometimes, she'd blame her drinking on our dad. Sometimes, she'd blame the drinking on us. It was always a guessing game as to which "mom" we were going to get on a given night. Would it be "fun drunk" mom, who would want to play games and dance and sing (which my brother and I found embarrassing and annoying). Or would it be "sad drunk" mom who cried about everything in her life and blamed us for her misfortune. Or possibly "angry drunk" mom (which needs no explanation). 

As we grew older we came to hope that she would just pass out and leave us alone. It was much easier to deal with. When we were younger, it was terrifying. We didn't understand what was going on other than our mom was on the floor and wouldn't wake up. We were repeatedly traumatized by this until we finally grew numb to it and realized that her being passed out meant we weren't going to be harassed or yelled at. 

Because of this, I became a nervous perfectionist. I thought that if I got good enough grades maybe she'd stop drinking. If I could do this or that good enough, be a perfect daughter, then maybe she'd stop drinking. I was a high achiever in school. Worked full time starting when I was 16 and still was a straight A student. I was shy and withdrawn, anxious and depressed. I had no friends. I thought I didn't deserve them and was too embarrassed to bring anyone over to our house lest they see my mom drunk. My brother just kind of gave up. He became a slacker and low achiever. He got in trouble and developed anger issues. 

To this day I'm still a perfectionist. I don't think I'm good enough. I have imposter syndrome. I don't have many "real" friends. I'm an introvert. I'm a people pleaser and put myself last. I'm always shocked to know that someone likes or (gasp) respects me. I'm still a high achiever. I feel selfish if I do things for myself. I have bipolar disorder and deal with depression and anxiety on the daily.

My brother is still a slacker. He's never had a steady job. He has anger issues, anxiety and depression and spends his days playing video games and smoking pot. We're polar opposites. The one thing we have in common is that we can't stand our mother. 

I wish I had a dollar for every time we confronted our mom about her drinking. I'd have a decent sized nest egg. She'd either tell us she didn't drink/wasn't drinking (lies) or that she promised she would quit (more lies). She started drinking before I was born and hasn't stopped since. Her drinking is why my dad left her. 

I guess I should be happy that we were never physically abused. However, I think the emotional abuse and neglect were worse. Because it went on unseen by anyone. I don't know. But reading this book helped me realize that emotional abuse and neglect can be worse than physical abuse. 

Wow. What a downer of a post. But I needed to get some of this out. I know what I'll be talking about in therapy in a couple of weeks. 

Thursday 2/24/22 Another Heavy Sigh Day

Two posts close together. Weird. 

On Monday (my last post), I didn't really feel like writing. But I did. At least a little bit. Today I feel like writing . . . but I don't know how much. 

I had therapy this morning and I don't really know what to say anymore there. I feel like I'm beating a dead horse. I'm bipolar, I have depression, this is what I feel like, these are the things I'm doing to combat it, blah, blah, blah. Over and over again. I feel as though I'm boring Mike - which is a stupid way to feel - but I can't help it. In the 8-9 years I've been seeing Mike we've gone over all of my trauma ad nauseum. There isn't anything new to discuss. No reason I should be feeling the way I do except that I'm bipolar. And in a depressive episode. Which, honestly, is frustrating. Because yeah - I feel like I'm boring and whiney and undeserving. I feel like I shouldn't be in therapy, like I should be able to figure this out on my own by now. 

But I can't.

And as much as I let on that there is hope . . . I feel kind of lost and hopeless. Because this keeps going on. I keep having episodes. And I will keep having episodes for as long as I live. And that's a very daunting future. Even though I had a year of "normalcy" it's like I can't remember what it was like. The depression is so consuming, even though it's not nearly as bad as it was in the past. I'm still struggling. Every. Single. Day. I'm struggling. Quietly. Undetectable to most people, I'm struggling. 

See, my depression isn't the obvious sobbing, suicidal crisis. I'm not having breakdowns every day. This episode is insidious and quiet and unrelenting. No, I'm not sobbing over everything. In fact, I can't cry. It doesn't matter what happens, I can't cry. There's nothing there. This episode has left me an empty husk. An unfeeling thing with such limited emotions it's as if I feel nothing. I'm dead inside. Hollow. There's nothing left. I'm just going about the motions of life, doing what needs to be done, doing the bare minimum because I have no drive, no motivation, no life inside of me. This is a horrible way to feel, to feel nothing. And I'm lost as to what to do. 

Mike thinks my medications are to blame. Maybe they are. They're keeping the mania at bay - and probably the worst of my depression - but I'm left numb. I'm left unfeeling. And, I guess, I should clarify: I can feel anger. Anger, resentment, annoyance, irritability. I can feel those emotions. But joy? Happiness? Contentment? Sorrow, even? No. Those emotions are out of my grasp. 

I describe it as feeling "blah" or "meh". I'm just existing. I don't get excited for anything. I'm getting a new tattoo next Tuesday and I'm all, "yep. Whatever." Like I don't even care. Which, I guess, I really don't. Being so empty it's hard to care. About anything. All I want to do is sleep. Sleep and not wake up until I feel better. So I nap. A lot. Because then I don't have to deal with not feeling. 

I'm doing everything I know to do to beat this. Exercising, eating healthy, painting, therapy, my meds, supplements, praying, singing along to music, putting on a happy face . . . you name it, I'm probably doing it. I don't know what else to do. What the fuck am I supposed to do??? I'm so tired of this, tired of fighting a war I can't win. 

I guess I'll call my psychiatrist. Talk to him about adjusting my meds. I don't know what else to do. 

Monday 2/21/22 Heavy Sigh

 It's been that kind of day. A heavy sigh kind of day. I am . . . quite blah. And actually feeling a bit down today as well. I'm not sure why. I mean, the "blah" I get. That seems to be my go to state of being as of late. But feeling down too . . . ugh. I'm not digging it. 

I spent the morning painting. I had a custom pet portrait to do, a dog. I'm always nervous doing custom orders because I think the person will hate it. It came out cute and the gal loved it. So, yay for that! I guess I can stop beating myself up about it now. Maybe that's why I'm feeling down as well as blah. Who knows.

I'm tired of how I'm feeling. I'm tired of being tired. I'm not physically tired - this is more emotionally and mentally tired. My soul is tired. And no amount of sleep will help this. I'm not sure anything will help this. I just keep powering through, hoping I'll eventually start feeling better. It has to happen sometime, right? 

Nothing else of interest is really going on. I go to work. I work. I come home. On my days off I paint or draw or stare off into space or mindlessly scroll social media because I can't focus enough to read. Last Thursday I talked on the phone with a guy named Jacob. He has bipolar disorder and sees my therapist. It's amazing how similar yet different our symptoms are. It was a good conversation, although I felt more like I was being interviewed. 

It's weird, usually when I'm feeling down I have the urge to write. And today I really don't. Maybe it's because I've said it all before. Maybe it's because I don't want to be a downer. Maybe it's both of those things. I'm just so empty and anhedonic and apathetic and blah. I really don't want to exist like this. I want to go to sleep and wake up when this is over. Why can't I do that?

Tuesday 2/15/22

 Yesterday was Valentine's day. Jer and I never do anything for Valentine's day - I'm not sure we ever have (we've been together for 22 years). And, per our usual, we didn't do anything this year either. I worked yesterday and it was rather busy. 

Lately, my mood has been very blah. I don't even really feel depressed, per se, but just empty and meh, and blah, and flat. No real emotion. I'm just existing. Going through the motions. No joy, no happiness, no contentment . . . but also no feeling really down or dark or "sad". I'm floating around in this grey area, unable to see color but not experiencing the dark. Maybe this is a good thing? Maybe it means I'm coming out of the depression and into the light? Maybe this is a necessary stepping stone on the path to getting better? I have no idea. All I know is that I don't like it. Being in a grey fog, unable to feel, is not my idea of fun. But I don't know what to do. Keep muddling along, hoping I eventually get better? See my psychiatrist for a potential med change? (I don't know what we'd do for a med change - I've been on 23 different meds). I have no idea. 

For now, I guess I'll keep muddling along. I don't really have a choice - this isn't something you can just "snap out" of (although I wish I could). 

. . . man this is a short post. I guess I don't feel like writing today.

Wednesday 2/9/22 How About Some Horses

 So I painted some horses. Five paintings. Two are alright; three are crap. I'm out of practice painting horses and it shows. Oh well, practice makes perfect right?

Here's one of the okay paintings:

It's not too bad, just also not great. I can do better. Maybe I was just having an off day on Monday. Well, I know I was having an off day, in more areas than just painting. Monday was a day of feeling like crap, hating myself, and being depressed. It was not fun. But what can you do? Press on, like always. So I painted - poorly - and carried on. 

I worked yesterday and it was set up to be a horrifically busy day delivering babies. But then, it wasn't. We only did 5 deliveries (and left 7 in labor for night shift - oops!). And my mood was mostly okay. Withdrawn, but okay. Which was a God send after how I was feeling on Monday. 

Today I'm very blah. Numb. Flat. Nothing. Existing. And I'm not digging it. I painted again today, just a couple of paintings. Other than that I've been kind of floating around, not really doing anything. I want to work out but I have no motivation. It would be so much easier to sleep. And that's pretty much my life. No motivation, let's just sleep. Feeling bad? Let's just sleep. Bored? Sleep. Hungry? Sleep. I don't want to be this way but I can't seem to change it. Now, I'm not always sleeping. No. Sometimes I'm staring off into space or scrolling social media. Because these things are easier than dealing with my feelings. Which often don't feel good. 

Ugh. This sucks y'all. 

Thursday 2/3/22 Therapy

 I had therapy this morning. Early this morning. Like, 0800 this morning. It was ridiculously cold out. So cold it took my truck a few extra seconds to start. I don't like it that cold. We had a snow storm come through Tuesday and Wednesday and dump around 6 inches of snow. And then with the cold everything froze. 

Anyway, therapy. Mike and I spent the majority of the time talking about work. My work, obviously. Because, well, I'm burnt out. So burnt out. To the point where I don't want to go anymore. I dread going to work. Every day. I've been full time again for a year now, after having been part time for, I don't know, 6 years? I was proud of myself when I went back to full time last year. So proud. Now I'm wondering what the fuck I was thinking. Mike agrees with me in that respect. And suggested that maybe I go back to part time. Ugh. I'd feel like a total failure going back to part time. Like I've let everyone down - family and coworkers both. And myself. Mike pointed out that maybe I'm being too hard on myself (I am), but I can't help it. But yeah, I mean, work is an external, modifiable component contributing to my depression. So if I could change that, in theory, it would help my depression. Makes sense. But I am loathe to go part time again. For a lot of reasons really. But mainly because I don't want to be seen as a failure. How I see myself. Oy vey. 

Jer (hubby) and I talked about it this afternoon too. He keeps telling me that if I need to go part time again I can totally do it. Our budget is based off my part time pay (the extra I'm making is going into savings or to purchase all my protein powder and other frivolous spending). So yeah - money wise I could totally do it. Jer wants me to be happy and healthy. And I get that. I want to be happy and healthy too. But . . . failure. Extra money. Not contributing enough. I just . . . I don't know. We came up with a compromise though: I have lots of vacation time. Like, 200 hours. Now, the next 6 week schedule is already set in stone (and it sucks, honestly), but after this schedule I'm going to take a day off each week for a little while and use some of my vacation time. It's like going part time for a bit but not really doing it. Maybe it'll help. I really hope it does. 

I've been feeling so numb and empty and withdrawn and down lately. I keep thinking that if maybe I could have a good cry it would help. Release everything bottled up inside. But I can't cry. I physically can't. There's nothing in me. No real emotion other than anger. Numb and empty. I can't muster up enough emotion to cry. How sad is that? 

Anyway, therapy was good. Mike enjoyed my artwork. All 18 paintings I brought. Lord have mercy, why did I have so many paintings?? Well, because painting can be cathartic. I did two paintings today too (I'll bring those next time). 

Um . . . that's all I got for now. Cheers.