It's been a little over a week now since the hubster got laid off.
It's been rocky and at sometimes suspiciously smooth. A confusing mash of understanding and support jumbled up with grief and misdirected anger.
Already having been in the midst of a recovery period and trying to regain some of the balance I lost during the summer living with my family makes me feel more vulnerable. Not that unemployment at any stage of stability wouldn't be a nuke on anyone's life.
There has been some down swings along with a few upswings. The more problematic symptom has been anger. Outbursts, violence, bickering, and eventually the shame and sadness that usually follow my angry moments.
Thankfully the violence has been limited to slamming my fists on a table, flicking or throwing something (not at anyone or to break anything), and yelling. It's still embarrassing and I know that it stresses Baby Bananaface. The hubs and I aren't used to this level of... angst and expression. Being the types that don't just let things lie means that we struggle to shelve things in order to discuss them in a more appropriate way. Things just erupt wherever and whenever.
Even during these rough times, we know that we are committed to one another and strive to improve. We know things will get there. Baby steps.
The holidays are coming.
My nephew's birthday is Saturday. We haven't heard of any party or anything. Wouldn't be surprised if we weren't invited, or invited last minute with the hope of us not being able to make it sort of thing.
We are going to send him a gift and card in the mail tomorrow, just in case.
The journeys across state for Thanksgiving and Christmas are a little worrying. Expenses and potty training complicate things. Our little commuter car isn't something we like to drive over the pass-let alone put more miles on-and we hate to spend money on a rental right now. We shall see how things work out.
Off to errands and chores.
Thank you for commenting! I'm sorry that I can't respond to everyone lately or read around. I do miss everyone and look forward to catching up more thoroughly soon :o)
Showing posts with label Anger. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anger. Show all posts
Sunday, November 5, 2017
Thursday, August 17, 2017
Acknowledge, Accept, Engage
Ya might think this will be a political post and it isn't. The truth is that I've been having a rough time and I haven't posted about it because I'm self-conscious about posting too often and/or posting incongruous posts. Well, that's life with mental health diagnoses. I can have glorious moments on family vacation and horrible lows all in the same week-or day.
So here goes.
The Friday before we left for our road trip I had my first full-on panic attack in months. My anxiety had been elevated for weeks and I think the pre-departure stress put me in a very vulnerable position.
The class that day was probably around triple the usual size because of an altered schedule that week. We were doing an exercise that involved many people dropping barbells almost in unison. That first round put me over. The tears came on, my body began shaking, my heart rate sky rocketed, and a flush came over me beyond my workout glow.
I grabbed my water bottle and purse, bounding into the front room to haphazardly open my emergency pill container that dangles from my wallet at all times. Between the shakes and my restrictive weightlifting wrist bands it was quite a task! After popping my pill I ran cold water over my hands and face before grabbing some frozen sponges and taking some time to walk around outside to calm myself. A friendly childcare/office lady talked with me during this time and helped me calm down as well.
Yesterday, I had to run out of a workout again.
I haven't been able to manage my anxiety the last several weeks and injuries preventing me from engaging in my workouts as I'd like have been quite upsetting. With the elevated anxiety I wasn't able to think straight and ask my coach for help scaling, instead I panicked when the workout began and subsequently walked out before a full blown panic attack struck.
I collapsed on the grass in the sun outside the gym and cried.
My coach hollered from the warehouse door to see if I was okay and I told him it was anxiety and that I'd be fine.
Later, after the workout, he asked if I wanted to talk about it. I started crying and shrugged my shoulders. He asked if the anxiety just "cropped up" and I told him that it had been a problem for a while. This time, it was more than anxiety though, the suicidal impulses have returned. I told him that I had some mental health diagnoses that involve anxiety and chronic suicidality. That these disorders require me to work out frequently at a certain intensity or things can get dangerous for me. My injuries have been gumming that up.
He thanked me for talking to him and I thanked him as well. A couple other folks inquired as to my well being and wished me well.
I love the support I've received there. It does freak me out that I'm experiencing such intense symptoms where I feel most safe. I can understand it, sure, I'm just concerned that I can't even relax at my relaxing place.
I'm very scared. The dips are persisting longer than they have in a long time. I've had suicidal episodes since moving here, they were acute though. This is a different animal. A slippier animal.
The hubs has pushed things into high gear looking for alternate housing. I've been trying to avoid my family as much as possible. I still need to pull out my DBT book and focus on really working some skills...
My brain is slow yet my thoughts are fast.
My body is weary yet I can't relax.
I have to acknowledge this isn't just a little dip. I've had a few intense episodes since the move and this isn't that. It's been a slow, sneaky descent. I find it more difficult to recognize the dark logic as my disease and I'm starting to romanticize suicidal ideations.
I feel like I'm walking a very dangerous line. I feel desperate. I am afraid. And I'm crying at the drop of hat-more and more in public and when driving (not exactly safe).
Moving here was a bad, bad idea. I came in with the best intentions, trying to tamp down the fear and focus on meeting the challenge, but I have to retreat.
Over and over I think, "my family is killing me," and it haunts me. I feel guilt. I feel anger. I don't think they mean to and yet a sense of victimization overwhelms me. It isn't fair. Why me? So many other people have it so much worse... It's so messy. It's so hurtful. They aren't safe. This can't be malicious, you can't hold them accountable for ignorance... I feel like they would be offended and confused to hear this and yet I can't deny it. I don't want to hurt them, I don't want to blame them (though it is so hard to delineate between fact and blame for me)... but a cut needs to be made. I need to excise this threat.
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain for staying, pain for leaving.
I suppose my brain chemistry at the moment doesn't help either.
Hope this isn't too incoherent. Thanks for being here, from vacation to crisis :o)
So here goes.
The Friday before we left for our road trip I had my first full-on panic attack in months. My anxiety had been elevated for weeks and I think the pre-departure stress put me in a very vulnerable position.
The class that day was probably around triple the usual size because of an altered schedule that week. We were doing an exercise that involved many people dropping barbells almost in unison. That first round put me over. The tears came on, my body began shaking, my heart rate sky rocketed, and a flush came over me beyond my workout glow.
I grabbed my water bottle and purse, bounding into the front room to haphazardly open my emergency pill container that dangles from my wallet at all times. Between the shakes and my restrictive weightlifting wrist bands it was quite a task! After popping my pill I ran cold water over my hands and face before grabbing some frozen sponges and taking some time to walk around outside to calm myself. A friendly childcare/office lady talked with me during this time and helped me calm down as well.
Yesterday, I had to run out of a workout again.
I haven't been able to manage my anxiety the last several weeks and injuries preventing me from engaging in my workouts as I'd like have been quite upsetting. With the elevated anxiety I wasn't able to think straight and ask my coach for help scaling, instead I panicked when the workout began and subsequently walked out before a full blown panic attack struck.
I collapsed on the grass in the sun outside the gym and cried.
My coach hollered from the warehouse door to see if I was okay and I told him it was anxiety and that I'd be fine.
Later, after the workout, he asked if I wanted to talk about it. I started crying and shrugged my shoulders. He asked if the anxiety just "cropped up" and I told him that it had been a problem for a while. This time, it was more than anxiety though, the suicidal impulses have returned. I told him that I had some mental health diagnoses that involve anxiety and chronic suicidality. That these disorders require me to work out frequently at a certain intensity or things can get dangerous for me. My injuries have been gumming that up.
He thanked me for talking to him and I thanked him as well. A couple other folks inquired as to my well being and wished me well.
I love the support I've received there. It does freak me out that I'm experiencing such intense symptoms where I feel most safe. I can understand it, sure, I'm just concerned that I can't even relax at my relaxing place.
I'm very scared. The dips are persisting longer than they have in a long time. I've had suicidal episodes since moving here, they were acute though. This is a different animal. A slippier animal.
The hubs has pushed things into high gear looking for alternate housing. I've been trying to avoid my family as much as possible. I still need to pull out my DBT book and focus on really working some skills...
My brain is slow yet my thoughts are fast.
My body is weary yet I can't relax.
I have to acknowledge this isn't just a little dip. I've had a few intense episodes since the move and this isn't that. It's been a slow, sneaky descent. I find it more difficult to recognize the dark logic as my disease and I'm starting to romanticize suicidal ideations.
I feel like I'm walking a very dangerous line. I feel desperate. I am afraid. And I'm crying at the drop of hat-more and more in public and when driving (not exactly safe).
Moving here was a bad, bad idea. I came in with the best intentions, trying to tamp down the fear and focus on meeting the challenge, but I have to retreat.
Over and over I think, "my family is killing me," and it haunts me. I feel guilt. I feel anger. I don't think they mean to and yet a sense of victimization overwhelms me. It isn't fair. Why me? So many other people have it so much worse... It's so messy. It's so hurtful. They aren't safe. This can't be malicious, you can't hold them accountable for ignorance... I feel like they would be offended and confused to hear this and yet I can't deny it. I don't want to hurt them, I don't want to blame them (though it is so hard to delineate between fact and blame for me)... but a cut needs to be made. I need to excise this threat.
Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain for staying, pain for leaving.
I suppose my brain chemistry at the moment doesn't help either.
Hope this isn't too incoherent. Thanks for being here, from vacation to crisis :o)
Monday, June 26, 2017
One of those "anger release" exercises...
WARNING: EXTREMELY LONG POST!
Seriously, it's really long.
If you have to pee, pee now.
So... I had intended to do a different anger releasing writing project and instead I found myself "gifted" with a new starting point today. I ended up mixing some of my previous complaints with the newer ones. It might be a little confusing-somehow in my process I blended multiple members of my family into one. No matter. The process is the important part.
DISCLAIMER: I tried to embrace my anger. I tried to fan the flames. I tried to dig up compacted rage. As intentional as this is, I am still quite uncomfortable with expressing my anger. I don't know if such phrases are effective. I don't know if it's rational or justified or something I can stand by... I'm trying not to judge myself and I hope you can withhold judgment as well :o) I don't like saying mean things. I empathize and I see both sides so much that I struggle to even own thoughts like these let alone express them on paper, screen, or out loud!
DISCLAIMER PS: The hubby has encouraged me to embrace a "go fuck yourself" mentality. Instead of being hurt and trying to figure out what's wrong with me or how to be good enough, reject the hurtful opinion. Think or say "go fuck yourself" instead of throwing myself under the bus or putting myself at risk for relapse. I don't have to analyze every comment... I can let it go. Push it away. So, I tried to embrace that. In real life I don't really say, "go fuck yourself." Ever. Very weird feelings... Anywho. Just sayin.
Here we go. Somehow an offhand comment set my off...
Maybe you thought it was a compliment today when you said I should be on that show, "American Grit." The thing is, when the host describes the show as a place for people "all who either have lost their grit or never had it" I don't take that as a compliment.
A) How the fuck can you think that I don't have grit? Do you have that little appreciation for what I've survived?
It's puzzling to me that you have never seemed to grasp my mental health issues. It's been over 15 years since my symptoms surfaced and yet it seems like you still struggle to acknowledge my disease. I mention something relating to my mental health and I'm greeted with a "deer in the headlights" stare. My husband says that he has given up on trying to explain that this type of illness can't be "cured," that it's part of my body chemistry and brain structure. Do you really think I'm not trying hard enough to "fix it?" Do you think that I'm lazy?
Maybe you don't appreciate the years of my childhood and young adulthood spent in quiet desperation. The years of self-harming and isolation. You pegged me as "the Eeyore of the family." Why does my mental illness define my personality?
Maybe you didn't notice my instability. You didn't notice my disease sending me into months of darkness or jerking me into weeks of elation. Years of feeling like I couldn't be trusted with my own life; whether that meant wanting to kill myself or being aware that I was too starry-eyed to make responsible decisions. I was impulsive and unstable and trying to figure out a solution all on my own... I suppose these deep-rooted feelings of rejection and abandonment have grown from multiple seeds, I'm sure this is one of them though. You didn't know what to do, I get it, maybe if it felt like you tried I wouldn't feel this angry. I wouldn't feel this heartbroken. You turned away from me and fed my self-disgust.
And what of the last couple years? Do you appreciate the fact that I spent months barely able to care for myself or my infant son? What about the period of time that I couldn't be trusted alone with my son? Surely you remember the weeks in the hospital. I'm told you visited. I know that you helped drive me to ECT treatments. Do you know how many times the hubster drove me? or drove BB north to daycare then drove south to work then drove west to see me in the psych ward before rushing back to BB and caring for our son throughout the evening-multiple wakings in the night-before waking early to do it again all on his own? (Hubby comment: he only got one speeding ticket!)
Do you see the scars we carry? The scars that bind us? That time broke trust and built trust. I couldn't be trusted with my life or with my son's life. He saved us. Why does the hubby ask so openly and abruptly if I'm safe? if I'm suicidal? if I feel out of control? because dozens and dozens of times I've been in danger. He's been rescuing me. That was our norm and we've made it through. We've made it through and are making a new normal from scratch. Your jokes and teasing about his protectiveness and adherence to routine aren't just annoying, they're insulting.
How can you imply that I don't have grit? Over a year of life-threatening postpartum depression, over a dozen medications tried to stem the crisis, over three weeks in the hospital, over thirty ECT treatments... I'm still here. I laid on a bed and waited for my last breath to try and spare my husband and son a lifetime of trying to save a life I thought wasn't worth saving-mine. My husband ripped that plastic bag off my face and saved my life that afternoon and despite having close to no resolve left, somehow I kept fighting. For him. For my son. And a little for me.
How much more grit do I have to have before I can believe you think I'm enough?
I can't count on that anymore. I can't wait to sense some change in you. I can't play these pussy-footing games of allusion and corroding criticism. I may have started my life in this game with your dangerous rules. I won't finish my life at your game. You can call me sensitive, you can tease me and imply that I'm weak, you can make me feel like I'm flawed beyond salvaging-and then you can go fuck yourselves. Just because you don't seem to realize the damage you cause doesn't mean you are devoid of responsibility.
I don't need your apologies. I don't need you. I don't need more grit.
B) Do you have that little appreciation for how much I do everyday to try and avert relapse and continue to survive? What kind of grit does that take?
You give the impression that the most important aspect of my exercise regimen in my weight loss and being fit. Maybe all your comments about me "being in the best shape of your life" or "a sliver of what you used to be" are intended to be compliments. In reality? It feels like weight added back onto my shoulders. I feel pressure to lose more weight. To lift heavier weight. To tone more parts of my body and fit in smaller clothes and eliminate rolls and embody some image that you, society, and the shadowed part of me have deemed worthy of pride.
It's not healthy.
My mental state is more important than the state of my ass. I exercise every day to try and maintain my mood stability or actively battle back anxiety and depression. I go to the gym despite my social anxiety, despite feeling inept and insufficient, despite feeling like an outcast and poser. I go to the gym and try to push myself hard enough to be able to push back the disease I will live with for the rest of my life.
It doesn't really matter how much I can lift. The kind of strength I need most can't be provided by regular exercise.
You tease me for my "OCD" while loading the dishwasher or trying to keep the refrigerator organized. Okay, that's not how you do things. Fine. I do it different and for a damn good reason.
I'm not OCD-which is a clinical disorder and not something to be joked about-I am sick. I am sick in such a way that I have to avoid any extra stress whenever possible. I am sick in such a way that I have to be mindful throughout my day about big and little choices-from doing dishes or taking medication.
I am sick in such a way that unloading the dishes and finding several of them dirty because the machine was overloaded or loaded ineffectively can be unduly upsetting. I'm sick in such a way that having sharp knives scattered throughout the other silverware instead of contained in their own section can increase my impulses to self-harm.
As for a disorganized and sometimes unsanitary fridge or a cabinet stuffed with mismatched Tupperware? If I'm having a bad day, opening a door and being confronted by these things can send me into a panic or distress me in a way that contributes to a depressive episode. Not to mention feeling the criticism and rejection from you verbal teasing in each carelessly placed item. And seriously-why would you want to put your fruits right by (or on) your raw meat!?
I have to live this way to live. It's working for me and that's what matters-at least to me, my husband, and our son. Don't think that I resent it-it is a lot of work and it's also the greatest sense of stability that I've ever had in my life. My mental state may fluctuate and get dangerous from time-to-time; dinner will always be at 6:00 PM. The silverware will always be sorted and easily accessible. The yoghurt will always be on the same shelf. Baby Bananaface will always have a set bedtime. That stability, having something I can count on, gives me comfort and confidence that I didn't have before. It helps me cope, it helps me thrive.
You want to live in a hurricane made by your own hand? Go ahead. You want to swallow your feelings and eat your loneliness? Go ahead. You want to bury yourself in cheap trinkets in lieu hearing "I love you?" Fine. I'm sick of trying to satiate the needs you don't claim responsibility for or even acknowledge. I'm not interested in maintaining this legacy of delusion and self-imposed suffering. I take this heritage and try to set it aside day-after-day for my own good and for my husband and for my son.
Y'all can sit in your burning building on your own. I'm leaving.
Whew. I tried NOT to edit much. I tried NOT to hold back or censor. I'm sure that this isn't everything though. I have a hard time handling anger. I think this was a step in the right direction though.
What does this mean for the real relationship with me family? I have no clue. I do think that I can't expect them to change or expend too much of my energy fighting to change things. I have to take care of myself in other ways first and that takes a lot of my time and energy. I think it's all right to simply accept things and accept that I don't have to fix it. I can move on and live the best life that I can without making everything neat and perfect.
CONGRATS if you read this entire post.
You have eyes of steel ;o)
Sunday, February 19, 2017
Bumpy roads-but I got big tires!
Yesterday was a challenging day. I made it through. Things got bad but they didn't get scary. So, I'd call it a messy victory.
I think the first thing that threw me off was my gym class that morning. I've been doing especially well in the class for a few weeks and decided to stick with my 8-10-12 pound weights and not grab the 5. Well. It turned out I sure needed that 5 for shoulder work! Yeowza!
I was embarrassed when my instructor noticed my weights and offered hers to me to lighten me up. I thanked her and thanked her again at the end of class. I definitely felt disappointed with myself and embarrassed. Still working on those old mental habits of never asking for help and only success brings you love.
Another frustrating element to the class was getting lightheaded and feeling like I was creeping toward a fainting spell. It's happened to be before, years ago, and I think this time I hadn't drank enough water that morning and my hurricane strength period was working against me. I don't like having to slow down. I don't like sitting out exercises. A) I like to blend in, not draw attention B) Growing up, being slow or being a quitter got ya teased incessantly Cue more of the "no love without success" psychological drama!
The bumps in the road continued when I got home and started studying my next chapter for Medical Terminology, the Cardiovascular System. Woof. I had thought the nervous system was rough! This one has two whole pages of abbreviations and oodles of treatments and pills and tests. Boy. It's the hardest chapter for me yet and that it arose on a day when I was already struggling with negativity about myself... not the best timing.
A third pothole surprised me on Facebook. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate FB for a lot of reasons, though it can be a hotbed of comparison. This post triggered a memory of a conversation the hubs and I had a while back. I had mentioned something about trying to cultivate a friendship with someone outside the gym environment and he had said something about how he didn't see me and this other person as being compatible. They were more cosmopolitan... and I'm just. Not.
It hurt my feelings when he said it then and it hurt my feelings seeing a post on FB that made me think, "Oh, he's so right." It made me wonder, "Then what am I? Where do I fit in?" And, don't know bout you, but for me that can lead into a windy and complex maze of thoughts!
I ended up practicing a few DBT skills. Checking the facts and being mindful of what I have to be thankful for (I do have a nice variety of friends, IRL, online, local, and all around the world). I want to be me first and foremost, no more people pleasing and hiding away just to try and stay in someone's good graces. I know that I can be a good, worthwhile friend to have without throwing myself under the bus!
The next pothole was a computer crash that lost a chunk of writing. I had been dealing with some low level anger and agitation most of the day. That computer crash just put me over the edge. I got so agitated and angry! It took quite a while to calm down and made me wonder.... will my anger continue to simmer unnoticed and then erupt like that all the time? Or will there be a time when I spout off in less dramatic, more functional ways, a little at a time instead of those big eruptions? I've hidden my anger or pushed it away for so long that I am not quite adequately skilled in coping with it yet...
Don't know. Right now I'm gonna head off to yoga!
I think the first thing that threw me off was my gym class that morning. I've been doing especially well in the class for a few weeks and decided to stick with my 8-10-12 pound weights and not grab the 5. Well. It turned out I sure needed that 5 for shoulder work! Yeowza!
I was embarrassed when my instructor noticed my weights and offered hers to me to lighten me up. I thanked her and thanked her again at the end of class. I definitely felt disappointed with myself and embarrassed. Still working on those old mental habits of never asking for help and only success brings you love.
Another frustrating element to the class was getting lightheaded and feeling like I was creeping toward a fainting spell. It's happened to be before, years ago, and I think this time I hadn't drank enough water that morning and my hurricane strength period was working against me. I don't like having to slow down. I don't like sitting out exercises. A) I like to blend in, not draw attention B) Growing up, being slow or being a quitter got ya teased incessantly Cue more of the "no love without success" psychological drama!
The bumps in the road continued when I got home and started studying my next chapter for Medical Terminology, the Cardiovascular System. Woof. I had thought the nervous system was rough! This one has two whole pages of abbreviations and oodles of treatments and pills and tests. Boy. It's the hardest chapter for me yet and that it arose on a day when I was already struggling with negativity about myself... not the best timing.
A third pothole surprised me on Facebook. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate FB for a lot of reasons, though it can be a hotbed of comparison. This post triggered a memory of a conversation the hubs and I had a while back. I had mentioned something about trying to cultivate a friendship with someone outside the gym environment and he had said something about how he didn't see me and this other person as being compatible. They were more cosmopolitan... and I'm just. Not.
It hurt my feelings when he said it then and it hurt my feelings seeing a post on FB that made me think, "Oh, he's so right." It made me wonder, "Then what am I? Where do I fit in?" And, don't know bout you, but for me that can lead into a windy and complex maze of thoughts!
I ended up practicing a few DBT skills. Checking the facts and being mindful of what I have to be thankful for (I do have a nice variety of friends, IRL, online, local, and all around the world). I want to be me first and foremost, no more people pleasing and hiding away just to try and stay in someone's good graces. I know that I can be a good, worthwhile friend to have without throwing myself under the bus!
The next pothole was a computer crash that lost a chunk of writing. I had been dealing with some low level anger and agitation most of the day. That computer crash just put me over the edge. I got so agitated and angry! It took quite a while to calm down and made me wonder.... will my anger continue to simmer unnoticed and then erupt like that all the time? Or will there be a time when I spout off in less dramatic, more functional ways, a little at a time instead of those big eruptions? I've hidden my anger or pushed it away for so long that I am not quite adequately skilled in coping with it yet...
Don't know. Right now I'm gonna head off to yoga!
Friday, October 7, 2016
A Blip?
At the TMS office they talk about how recovery isn't always linear and that there can be "blips" along the way, not necessarily huge depressive episodes but a few days that send you for a spin.
Well, I think I'm blippin.
Again.
It's been a few weeks since I've felt this bad-and that's a big accomplishment going so long at "okay" levels-but it still feels horrible to be down again. It continues to amaze me how fast I can dive and how easily the darkness rips away my own mind and replaces rational thought with suicidal propaganda.
I was just beginning to feel like I was officially "feeling better" and gaining a sense of self as a healthier person and not just a sick-in-the-head patient, but in a flash that sense of self, that sprouting confidence, that hope has been ripped from me. I'm still hanging in there, but the dark thoughts are intruding and I'm so weary of the fight I just want it to be over. Win, lose, or draw doesn't matter to me in those moments, I just want out.
Such a storm of emotions when I'm caught up in these times. Anger and sadness seem to be big ones for me. I noticed today how sad and angry I was at having these thoughts and feelings seem to hijack my personality, my soul, my being. I didn't care about what happened to other people after I potentially killed myself, I just wanted the fight to be done with-and that's not the real me. The real me cares about my loved ones and believes that life is worth living and recognizes the blessings in my life, but that diseased mind dismisses it all so easily.
I've been trying to catch the dark thoughts and label them and dismiss them, usually saying something in my head like, "It's the disease... I can let that go." Or I imagine the dark thoughts like a tree releasing all it's leaves at once and I have to sweep them out of my mind. It seems to help a little, but there have been many moments where I'm simply so fed up and sad that I slump over and tear up wherever I might be. Not nice.
So today is another teary, rough day and I'm slugging along trying to stick to my schedule and keep brushing off the intrusive, bad thoughts. I wish I could read your blogs and comment and catch up but I just can't handle it right now. I think I'll go scrub some counters and clean some floors instead. Not that those are equivalent activities, but-ugh- I don't mean to be insulting. Ay, whatever! I will catch up on blogs some other time, so while I'm not there now just know that I think of you and wish I was.
Well, I think I'm blippin.
Again.
It's been a few weeks since I've felt this bad-and that's a big accomplishment going so long at "okay" levels-but it still feels horrible to be down again. It continues to amaze me how fast I can dive and how easily the darkness rips away my own mind and replaces rational thought with suicidal propaganda.
I was just beginning to feel like I was officially "feeling better" and gaining a sense of self as a healthier person and not just a sick-in-the-head patient, but in a flash that sense of self, that sprouting confidence, that hope has been ripped from me. I'm still hanging in there, but the dark thoughts are intruding and I'm so weary of the fight I just want it to be over. Win, lose, or draw doesn't matter to me in those moments, I just want out.
Such a storm of emotions when I'm caught up in these times. Anger and sadness seem to be big ones for me. I noticed today how sad and angry I was at having these thoughts and feelings seem to hijack my personality, my soul, my being. I didn't care about what happened to other people after I potentially killed myself, I just wanted the fight to be done with-and that's not the real me. The real me cares about my loved ones and believes that life is worth living and recognizes the blessings in my life, but that diseased mind dismisses it all so easily.
I've been trying to catch the dark thoughts and label them and dismiss them, usually saying something in my head like, "It's the disease... I can let that go." Or I imagine the dark thoughts like a tree releasing all it's leaves at once and I have to sweep them out of my mind. It seems to help a little, but there have been many moments where I'm simply so fed up and sad that I slump over and tear up wherever I might be. Not nice.
So today is another teary, rough day and I'm slugging along trying to stick to my schedule and keep brushing off the intrusive, bad thoughts. I wish I could read your blogs and comment and catch up but I just can't handle it right now. I think I'll go scrub some counters and clean some floors instead. Not that those are equivalent activities, but-ugh- I don't mean to be insulting. Ay, whatever! I will catch up on blogs some other time, so while I'm not there now just know that I think of you and wish I was.
Sunday, July 3, 2016
Appointments-Check. Anxiety-Check.
Had ECT Wednesday and a visit with my psychiatrist Thursday so the hubs and I were busy zooming back and forth to Seattle this past week.
ECT went well, I actually felt a mood lift after this time (instead of feeling down like last time) and my mother and I had a good visit. She even stayed for dinner and to see Baby Bananaface despite facing traffic on her way home for it!
The psychiatrist appointment went pretty well but I'm definitely frustrated with the medication situation. We've determined that my anti-anxiety pills aren't really helping so we're weaning off this one and going to try something new. Apparently the new pills are something used for PTSD but it might help me with my nearly all-day anxiety. We're holding off on trying another mood stabilizer for now but I've been having some angry outbursts that the hubster thinks may be symptoms so we might be trying another new pill soon.
I still use Ativan as needed but I've been able to get back to only needing it every few days-there was a week there where I was nearly everyday and that was disappointing for me... I don't like to use the benzos very frequently and I don't like to feel dependent. Thankfully DBT has given me some good skills for coping through some pretty tough anxiety but still sometimes I get wore out and just need some help.
Anyways. Anxiety has sucked lately. Other day I had 5 panic attacks! They're pretty short but still unpleasant and discouraging and 5 in one day certainly made me feel fragile. I even had one during a hike yesterday, I couldn't believe it! It's been really frustrating but I'm doing pretty well considering all the anxiety I deal with-the gym really helps too, even when I can't completely relax and lose myself in a workout I still get a mood lift and some comfort from the exercise.
In other news, I completed a craft project that the hubby got me off Amazon a few weeks back!
I've decided to give it to my childhood neighbors/family friends. They feed the hummingbirds too and have been supportive and comforting to me for many years, a little surprise prize is well deserved!
I really appreciated having the cross stitch project for distraction purposes. For whatever reason coloring just doesn't do it for me, but stitching helps me reach a happy place. I shall have to continue crafting. And puzzles.... puzzles are good.
In other news, the hubster and I got a new game-Upwords. We really like it but it can be challenging! Much more compact than Scrabble so it works out nicely as a game we leave on the dining table to play whenever we feel like it (we also keep Yahtzee! out and keep cards handy).
Sigh. I guess I can't not mention it... I had a mood dip this afternoon and things got dark. The hubs made an offhand comment that triggered my insecurities and I ended up feeling really low and even had some self-harming urges. Well, I have those thoughts pretty regularly but these were more urges-basically things got darker than they have in quite a while and it was pretty upsetting. We were able to recover and get the afternoon back on track but it was sad to see myself like that after doing so well for so long. Have to remember to be gentle with myself and not to judge. Bumps in the road happen but I can keep moving onwards and upwards in a positive direction, no need for a major negative detour!
So, there's the news from Bananafaceland. I've been struggling to keep up on my blogging lately but I'm trying to recommit myself-especially want to write for "Words for Wednesday" this week! It's been too long!
Hope everyone celebrating the 4th has a safe and enjoyable holiday. We're going to my parents for various activities and it's causing me additional anxiety but I'm also excited and think/hope that I'll have fun.
Warm thoughts and gratitude :o)
BONUS PICTURE:
ECT went well, I actually felt a mood lift after this time (instead of feeling down like last time) and my mother and I had a good visit. She even stayed for dinner and to see Baby Bananaface despite facing traffic on her way home for it!
The psychiatrist appointment went pretty well but I'm definitely frustrated with the medication situation. We've determined that my anti-anxiety pills aren't really helping so we're weaning off this one and going to try something new. Apparently the new pills are something used for PTSD but it might help me with my nearly all-day anxiety. We're holding off on trying another mood stabilizer for now but I've been having some angry outbursts that the hubster thinks may be symptoms so we might be trying another new pill soon.
I still use Ativan as needed but I've been able to get back to only needing it every few days-there was a week there where I was nearly everyday and that was disappointing for me... I don't like to use the benzos very frequently and I don't like to feel dependent. Thankfully DBT has given me some good skills for coping through some pretty tough anxiety but still sometimes I get wore out and just need some help.
Anyways. Anxiety has sucked lately. Other day I had 5 panic attacks! They're pretty short but still unpleasant and discouraging and 5 in one day certainly made me feel fragile. I even had one during a hike yesterday, I couldn't believe it! It's been really frustrating but I'm doing pretty well considering all the anxiety I deal with-the gym really helps too, even when I can't completely relax and lose myself in a workout I still get a mood lift and some comfort from the exercise.
In other news, I completed a craft project that the hubby got me off Amazon a few weeks back!
I've decided to give it to my childhood neighbors/family friends. They feed the hummingbirds too and have been supportive and comforting to me for many years, a little surprise prize is well deserved!
I really appreciated having the cross stitch project for distraction purposes. For whatever reason coloring just doesn't do it for me, but stitching helps me reach a happy place. I shall have to continue crafting. And puzzles.... puzzles are good.
In other news, the hubster and I got a new game-Upwords. We really like it but it can be challenging! Much more compact than Scrabble so it works out nicely as a game we leave on the dining table to play whenever we feel like it (we also keep Yahtzee! out and keep cards handy).
Sigh. I guess I can't not mention it... I had a mood dip this afternoon and things got dark. The hubs made an offhand comment that triggered my insecurities and I ended up feeling really low and even had some self-harming urges. Well, I have those thoughts pretty regularly but these were more urges-basically things got darker than they have in quite a while and it was pretty upsetting. We were able to recover and get the afternoon back on track but it was sad to see myself like that after doing so well for so long. Have to remember to be gentle with myself and not to judge. Bumps in the road happen but I can keep moving onwards and upwards in a positive direction, no need for a major negative detour!
So, there's the news from Bananafaceland. I've been struggling to keep up on my blogging lately but I'm trying to recommit myself-especially want to write for "Words for Wednesday" this week! It's been too long!
Hope everyone celebrating the 4th has a safe and enjoyable holiday. We're going to my parents for various activities and it's causing me additional anxiety but I'm also excited and think/hope that I'll have fun.
Warm thoughts and gratitude :o)
BONUS PICTURE:
Sunday, May 8, 2016
Seeing the Darkness
Things are still hard.
Anxiety haunts me. I catch myself grinding my teeth off and on all day. Taking care of Baby Bananaface is a special challenge; the hubster and I are very cautious about overwhelming me and limiting my time as primary caregiver. Household responsibilities still daunt me but are becoming more and more feasible, believably achievable. On certain days, when I see scissors images of scratched wrists flash through my mind. The same can be said for plastic bags and suicidal ideations. Panic descends upon me and takes my breath away every couple days or more frequently. Sometimes I can whisk it away with mental shepherding but some days I just have to ride the wave and wait out the sickening pangs of discomfort that wrack my body and bring forth an odd chest pain so specific to my panic attacks.
My mind-my life isn't quite my own yet; the depression is still in residence, but I've come to a place where I've begun to see the dark instead of being consumed by it. I have just enough light for a little bit of perspective every now and then. That might not sound like much, but it's amazing.
Instead of being swamped, paralyzed, and disabled by the Darkness I'm able to rescue myself more and more often. I sometimes feel capable and adept in moments when I can carefully redirect my morbid thoughts to more positive or at least harmless trajectories. I am able to express myself more frequently, whether that means basic communication and expressing my thoughts or expressing my often disregarded feelings, even dredging up the worst, the darkest thoughts and bringing them into the light; it's a victory of sorts.
Working past the silence, the isolation, the sacrifice that takes me past a healthy lifestyle to a darker, self-loathing, a slow death that has hijacked my living for far too long is a much appreciated mark of progress. I still have a hard time battling back the sticky tentacles of depressive logic and feelings of defeated heartbreak when I contemplate where the Darkness has taken me and all the challenges I've experienced over the past several months but tiptoeing closer to the Darkness for a moment as I acknowledge my new perspective, my new outlook, my new light on the situation seems necessary and worthwhile.
It's a little light, true, but my little light is enough to let me see how far down I've gone and how I've climbed out a bit now and that makes me feel pride and love and hope... things that I haven't felt for myself in so long. It's a tear-worthy thing for me to feel these things; happy tears but tears nonetheless.
So that's where I am. I'm still sick but I'm having moments of feeling well again. I'm still fighting; struggling some moments but succeeding in others. I don't find myself aiming for any particular success or mark of victory, instead I recognize that I am in for a fight the rest of my life and that weight is an intimidating, upsetting, but happy burden as I build up the strength and determination to wage this battle for my wellness.
I know I've had posts like this before, but that is how this disease works: over and over again you must dedicate yourself to living, to battling back the illness, to whatever new treatment you're trying whether it be medication or therapy... so I'm sorry if this is repetitive or redundant, but as much as this point in my current recovery is a revisiting is also a new exploration of self as well.
I'm still feeling the Darkness, I'm still "in the shit," I'm still hurting, but I'm also feeling a stubborn hopefulness and pride and grit that makes me want to stand up and beat my chest and kick and scream and fight and you know what? that feels worth a post to me. Worth some introspection, some tears, some fears.
I'm worth it.
Thanks for reading :o)
I hope others out there are feeling good or at least better if they were/are feeling poorly themselves. You have someone wishing you well! Keep fighting.
<3
Anxiety haunts me. I catch myself grinding my teeth off and on all day. Taking care of Baby Bananaface is a special challenge; the hubster and I are very cautious about overwhelming me and limiting my time as primary caregiver. Household responsibilities still daunt me but are becoming more and more feasible, believably achievable. On certain days, when I see scissors images of scratched wrists flash through my mind. The same can be said for plastic bags and suicidal ideations. Panic descends upon me and takes my breath away every couple days or more frequently. Sometimes I can whisk it away with mental shepherding but some days I just have to ride the wave and wait out the sickening pangs of discomfort that wrack my body and bring forth an odd chest pain so specific to my panic attacks.
My mind-my life isn't quite my own yet; the depression is still in residence, but I've come to a place where I've begun to see the dark instead of being consumed by it. I have just enough light for a little bit of perspective every now and then. That might not sound like much, but it's amazing.
Instead of being swamped, paralyzed, and disabled by the Darkness I'm able to rescue myself more and more often. I sometimes feel capable and adept in moments when I can carefully redirect my morbid thoughts to more positive or at least harmless trajectories. I am able to express myself more frequently, whether that means basic communication and expressing my thoughts or expressing my often disregarded feelings, even dredging up the worst, the darkest thoughts and bringing them into the light; it's a victory of sorts.
Working past the silence, the isolation, the sacrifice that takes me past a healthy lifestyle to a darker, self-loathing, a slow death that has hijacked my living for far too long is a much appreciated mark of progress. I still have a hard time battling back the sticky tentacles of depressive logic and feelings of defeated heartbreak when I contemplate where the Darkness has taken me and all the challenges I've experienced over the past several months but tiptoeing closer to the Darkness for a moment as I acknowledge my new perspective, my new outlook, my new light on the situation seems necessary and worthwhile.
It's a little light, true, but my little light is enough to let me see how far down I've gone and how I've climbed out a bit now and that makes me feel pride and love and hope... things that I haven't felt for myself in so long. It's a tear-worthy thing for me to feel these things; happy tears but tears nonetheless.
So that's where I am. I'm still sick but I'm having moments of feeling well again. I'm still fighting; struggling some moments but succeeding in others. I don't find myself aiming for any particular success or mark of victory, instead I recognize that I am in for a fight the rest of my life and that weight is an intimidating, upsetting, but happy burden as I build up the strength and determination to wage this battle for my wellness.
I know I've had posts like this before, but that is how this disease works: over and over again you must dedicate yourself to living, to battling back the illness, to whatever new treatment you're trying whether it be medication or therapy... so I'm sorry if this is repetitive or redundant, but as much as this point in my current recovery is a revisiting is also a new exploration of self as well.
I'm still feeling the Darkness, I'm still "in the shit," I'm still hurting, but I'm also feeling a stubborn hopefulness and pride and grit that makes me want to stand up and beat my chest and kick and scream and fight and you know what? that feels worth a post to me. Worth some introspection, some tears, some fears.
I'm worth it.
Thanks for reading :o)
I hope others out there are feeling good or at least better if they were/are feeling poorly themselves. You have someone wishing you well! Keep fighting.
<3
Sunday, March 20, 2016
Check out this mural!
Well, online I mean.
A must if you're a bird lover and there are factoids and recordings and bonus tidbits if you click on the birds! Much fun. I enjoyed it.
Also like allaboutbirds.org, great resource!
As far as life goes...
Baby is sick. No temperature but TONS of boogers and TONS of tears and TONS of shrieking. It sucks. I can handle a bit of it but then I'm totally off the rez and have to isolate to recoup.
and
I'm achy. I was just lying down covered in heating pads trying to untense my body and settle my mind and instead I had some sort of unsettling panic attack. There was even this creepy smell that came over me as my mind collapsed (it's happened before)... it was so scary and sad and frustrating but at least I was able to tell myself "I'm okay. I'm safe. I'm okay. I'm safe" out loud and I just kept repeating it until I was strong enough to look around, see that I was safe and eventually get out of bed.
Today was up and then down. The hubs, babe, me, and the dog took a long walk this morning and it was mostly good except for the fact that I got to thinking about everything that has gone on and it was saddening. I felt feisty at first, "hey, look what I've accomplished, I survived, etc.," but then the crying baby got to be too much and then the hen-pecking hubby pushed me over the edge. I was a yelling, cussing, pained bitch but anyways.... the everything.
I remember years ago being hauled away in the back of a cop car, spending the night in a crisis center. I remember therapy and therapy and therapy. I remember spending nearly two weeks inpatient and then working through an outpatient program. I'm aware that I don't remember all the meds that I've tried, I just know it's a lot (in my book at least). I remember spending over two weeks in inpatient and getting ECT and then spending weeks doing ECT outpatient and all the nausea and pain and impatience as I waited for the depression to leave me and never quite getting satisfaction. I remember self-harming. Crying. Screaming. Wrist-banging. I remember hugging and clinging and long talks and tears and sighs and relief. I remember confusion... that hasn't changed much!
As I feel myself edging toward the light, having more good days, but still struggling to leave the darkness behind, I feel hope and excitement but I also feel fear. I'm so afraid of backsliding, or of the madness returning full force at some point further down the road. I feel haunted, cursed, broken. Not so good!
Anyways. I need to do something else. Maybe I'll browse the mural again, maybe I'll watch TV, maybe I'll just rock myself for a little bit.
Wishing easier nights (or days) for those reading.
Keep keeping on.
A must if you're a bird lover and there are factoids and recordings and bonus tidbits if you click on the birds! Much fun. I enjoyed it.
Also like allaboutbirds.org, great resource!
As far as life goes...
Baby is sick. No temperature but TONS of boogers and TONS of tears and TONS of shrieking. It sucks. I can handle a bit of it but then I'm totally off the rez and have to isolate to recoup.
and
I'm achy. I was just lying down covered in heating pads trying to untense my body and settle my mind and instead I had some sort of unsettling panic attack. There was even this creepy smell that came over me as my mind collapsed (it's happened before)... it was so scary and sad and frustrating but at least I was able to tell myself "I'm okay. I'm safe. I'm okay. I'm safe" out loud and I just kept repeating it until I was strong enough to look around, see that I was safe and eventually get out of bed.
Today was up and then down. The hubs, babe, me, and the dog took a long walk this morning and it was mostly good except for the fact that I got to thinking about everything that has gone on and it was saddening. I felt feisty at first, "hey, look what I've accomplished, I survived, etc.," but then the crying baby got to be too much and then the hen-pecking hubby pushed me over the edge. I was a yelling, cussing, pained bitch but anyways.... the everything.
I remember years ago being hauled away in the back of a cop car, spending the night in a crisis center. I remember therapy and therapy and therapy. I remember spending nearly two weeks inpatient and then working through an outpatient program. I'm aware that I don't remember all the meds that I've tried, I just know it's a lot (in my book at least). I remember spending over two weeks in inpatient and getting ECT and then spending weeks doing ECT outpatient and all the nausea and pain and impatience as I waited for the depression to leave me and never quite getting satisfaction. I remember self-harming. Crying. Screaming. Wrist-banging. I remember hugging and clinging and long talks and tears and sighs and relief. I remember confusion... that hasn't changed much!
As I feel myself edging toward the light, having more good days, but still struggling to leave the darkness behind, I feel hope and excitement but I also feel fear. I'm so afraid of backsliding, or of the madness returning full force at some point further down the road. I feel haunted, cursed, broken. Not so good!
Anyways. I need to do something else. Maybe I'll browse the mural again, maybe I'll watch TV, maybe I'll just rock myself for a little bit.
Wishing easier nights (or days) for those reading.
Keep keeping on.
Thursday, March 17, 2016
St. Patrick's Day
I have been festive today. Why? I have no idea. I suppose it's because, "Why the hell not?"
The hubs asked what shirt he should wear and I promptly said, "The green one." The kiddo has green on and back-up green in his to-go bag. I was even making comments about his Irish ancestry and his festive green boogers (holy cow they were really, really sticky this morning).
I leave a comment on a blog, I tack on "Happy St. Patty's." Not every time, but often enough.
On the flipside, I was pissed off this morning A) because I didn't want to get outta bed one lick and B) because I have a horrendous pimple near my lip line that hurts like hell. I cussed a lot, we dubbed it the "St. Patrick's Day Pimplecre" and I made a bad herpes joke that the hubs took seriously and then we had to have a discussion and now I'm Googling how exactly one might get herpes and the whole cold sore thing... Good grief.
So THAT'S how my St. Patrick's Day is going. A little all over the board.
In other news, yesterday got quite dark for me and then things got better at DBT group. It was quite confusing to be jerked around by my emotions so much... Before class I told the hubs "If this doesn't work, that's it" implying that I would kill myself this fall if I'm not feeling better by then and then after class we were joking and loving and talking about the future, it was wonderful. Just confusing.
I really don't feel like my medications do much for me but the hubbo reminded me that it hasn't been all that long since I've been on this new one and that I gotta give it a chance... so I'll hurry up and wait. Grr.
ANYWAYS. Have some goals of doing some laundry and vacuuming without stubbing any toes today and eating lunch, all of which are going to be more challenging than expected (already proving as such).
Fair thee well blog reader...
and Happy St. Patrick's Day!
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Words for Wednesday
This week I'm trying to get back into life a bit, unfortunately that has meant a lot of meaningless FB browsing and some unfortunate triggering articles from some Postpartum sites etc. ANYWAYS going to Elephant's Child's blog and finding "Words for Wednesday" is a much more promising prospect for me :) Maybe afterward I will tack on some life update jazz but we'll see how my fingers are feeling :)
From EC's blog:
From EC's blog:
This month the prompts will be published here - but are provided by Margaret Adamson and her friend Sue Fulton.
This week Margaret and Sue have challenged us with two phrases.
They are:
Any port in a storm
And/or
Keep it under your hat
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kayla perused the tea service and flicked through the parade of rigid teabags lined up in the little
ceramic serving dish. The large pump pot of hot water was filled to the brim and seated
securely in the back left corner of the sturdy wheeled cart while tall piles of white paper cups
and even whiter plastic lids served as a back drop to bowls of different types of sweeteners
and a large red mug of wooden stirrer sticks.
Caffeine. Disgusting. Gross. Yeah right. Caffeine again. They go through all this trouble to
present a tea service and they can't remember plain ole decaf black?
Kayla thought as she shook her head, sighed, and walked back to the large cluster of meeting
tables at the center of the room. Plopping her tote bag on the table she took her seat, a convenient rolling office chair
with padded armrests and an adjustable height feature like all the other chairs, and refocused
her attention on unloading her bottle of water, pen, pencil, eraser, notebook, and several
required or recommended books pertaining to the topic of postpartum mood disorders.
present a tea service and they can't remember plain ole decaf black?
Kayla thought as she shook her head, sighed, and walked back to the large cluster of meeting
tables at the center of the room. Plopping her tote bag on the table she took her seat, a convenient rolling office chair
with padded armrests and an adjustable height feature like all the other chairs, and refocused
her attention on unloading her bottle of water, pen, pencil, eraser, notebook, and several
required or recommended books pertaining to the topic of postpartum mood disorders.
As the rest of the women filed into the office, Kayla noticed the miffed reactions at the tea
service and the bags of what looked like quite untouched books-maybe she wasn't the only
one struggling to find time to read assigned chapters and avoiding caffeinated tea or herbal
modge podges that may interact with her variety of psychiatric medications. The office space
was on the first floor of the "Verdansky Clinic for Babies and Mothers" a building specializing
in perinatal complications and care, boasting an acclaimed and "baby friendly" birth center
while providing pediatric and postpartum care on the other floors. It was supposed to be a
specialized resource for those facing the most difficult and trying challenges surrounding their
reproductive journeys and yet Kayla felt that it resembled more any port in a storm than an
ordained savior. So far, she wasn't vary impressed with the help she was receiving and
considering the miserable faces all around her, it seemed that her support group sisters hadn't
been impressed with the past few weeks either.
service and the bags of what looked like quite untouched books-maybe she wasn't the only
one struggling to find time to read assigned chapters and avoiding caffeinated tea or herbal
modge podges that may interact with her variety of psychiatric medications. The office space
was on the first floor of the "Verdansky Clinic for Babies and Mothers" a building specializing
in perinatal complications and care, boasting an acclaimed and "baby friendly" birth center
while providing pediatric and postpartum care on the other floors. It was supposed to be a
specialized resource for those facing the most difficult and trying challenges surrounding their
reproductive journeys and yet Kayla felt that it resembled more any port in a storm than an
ordained savior. So far, she wasn't vary impressed with the help she was receiving and
considering the miserable faces all around her, it seemed that her support group sisters hadn't
been impressed with the past few weeks either.
"Hey Kayla, how'd your week go?" Brianna, a tall blonde with thick legs and broad shoulders,
bypassed the tea cart and strode toward the seat next to Kayla. "If I have to smell old formula
anymore I think I'm going to throw Nora in a stall with a milk cow and just hope for the best."
bypassed the tea cart and strode toward the seat next to Kayla. "If I have to smell old formula
anymore I think I'm going to throw Nora in a stall with a milk cow and just hope for the best."
Kayla smiled at the sarcastic comment about Brianna's 7 month old daughter, Nora. She was
grateful that she and Brianna and some of the other mothers were able to share some of their
true frustrations and feelings between meeting discussions.
grateful that she and Brianna and some of the other mothers were able to share some of their
true frustrations and feelings between meeting discussions.
"Hi Brianna. I know what you mean, Trevor gets back from daycare and he smells so bad I
have to strip him down and give him a little bird bath with some wipes or I want to leave on the
porch just to keep the smell away." Kayla shook her head and shrugged, "My week was more
of the same. Pills. Forcing myself to eat. Trying to read these chapters that I never seem to get
started and watching stupid daycare ladies take care of my child because I can't get my shit
together. Ya know, the same."
have to strip him down and give him a little bird bath with some wipes or I want to leave on the
porch just to keep the smell away." Kayla shook her head and shrugged, "My week was more
of the same. Pills. Forcing myself to eat. Trying to read these chapters that I never seem to get
started and watching stupid daycare ladies take care of my child because I can't get my shit
together. Ya know, the same."
"I don't know how you manage letting him go everyday but you'll get through this." Brianna tried
to smile but the encouragement came off all consoling, "It's better for you to get the help you need
than try to keep it under your hat after all"
to smile but the encouragement came off all consoling, "It's better for you to get the help you need
than try to keep it under your hat after all"
"Yeah, but sometimes I wonder about just taking it all back, acting like I am A-OK just so I can
get a break from all this 'keeping it together' stuff!" Kayla whispered in a sideways
confession to Brianna as she flipped open her notebook and scooted up to the table. The
support group came to attention as the doors were shut along with the blinds. The nurse and
psychiatrist running the support group huddled at the front of the grouping of tables near some
whiteboards waiting for the group to settle. Their fake smiles chafed and Kayla found herself
rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair fiddling with her pen.
get a break from all this 'keeping it together' stuff!" Kayla whispered in a sideways
confession to Brianna as she flipped open her notebook and scooted up to the table. The
support group came to attention as the doors were shut along with the blinds. The nurse and
psychiatrist running the support group huddled at the front of the grouping of tables near some
whiteboards waiting for the group to settle. Their fake smiles chafed and Kayla found herself
rolling her eyes as she leaned back in her chair fiddling with her pen.
Another night of bullshit. Another night of ladies that probably had no postpartum problems of
their own if they'd even had children yet telling a room of traumatized mothers about
medications and psychological tricks to "get back on top of things."
their own if they'd even had children yet telling a room of traumatized mothers about
medications and psychological tricks to "get back on top of things."
Kayla looked over to Brianna who grimaced back with an understanding smirk as the
group quieted to take turns sharing the past week's triumphs and trials.
group quieted to take turns sharing the past week's triumphs and trials.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The hubs let me know that this comes off "a little whiney" but I don't care. I'm cranky and tired and sick of this mess and annoyed at my stupid Blogger indenting like a crazy asshole street artist... I'm a little off. As if you didn't already see that! *sigh*
Anyways. Been on a break from ECT. Been on 40 whatever grams or somethings of Latuda. Been popping Ativan and Klonopin and taking Lunesta every once in a while trying to sleep instead of lay there wondering if someone has broken into the condo... Been trying to eat a regular meal or two while the hubs is at work but it's tough.
Sometimes I feel upbeat, positive, like I am making progress and that I can get on top of this, but at 8:30 in the morning before my coffee while the dog is barking at regular ole apartment/condo sounds-not feeling so upbeat. Feeling... homicidal. ;) and I guess whiney. Whoopee. Sarcasm. Blah.
This friggin' blog formatting! My goodness, as if I need one more thing to piss me off! Ahhhh!
I know I'm not expressing it, but I wish everyone is doing well and I do care about ya'll and wish you well.
Monday, February 1, 2016
Just Rip My Heart Out
Today is a sad day. It's sad because I was hopeful not so long ago but have found myself revisited by the grimness of Depression past. I know that I'm still in the throes of this episode, battling for my future, but this backslide is so disappointing.
Last week I went to my aunt's memorial and felt so emotional, so grief-stricken, not just for her loss but for how close I came to ending my life and bringing such grief about in my own way. I remember looking into my son's eyes and playing with him, watching him show off his new walking skills like it was nothing to him, being awash in feelings of gratitude instead of dread or pain.
Today I found myself reaching for the seat buckle while we zoomed over the bridge by UW on our way to my ECT appointment. I imagined falling or flinging myself from the car to a swift and bloody end. I yearned for the relief, the guarantee that this darkness would never find me again once I was dead and gone. Instead I told my husband of the dark thought's visitation.
It was bad enough to have the thought occur to me but to then have my husband telling me to talk to hospital staff if the thoughts get worse or walk myself to the Emergency Department... how can I express the disappointment I felt? The sadness and grief and fear?
Just rip my heart out.
I struggle to see the path to better days but I'm well aware of my skewed perspective. It makes me feel sick and ashamed of myself. I'm so very sick of this struggle, of watching my life ooze by in paralyzed stupor. I'm so very sick of the repulsion and embarrassment, pain and shame I feel toward myself and this terrible struggle that hijacks my existence.
Can you comprehend just how sick of this struggle I am? It's like being your own bully and it's so very demoralizing.
Last week I went to my aunt's memorial and felt so emotional, so grief-stricken, not just for her loss but for how close I came to ending my life and bringing such grief about in my own way. I remember looking into my son's eyes and playing with him, watching him show off his new walking skills like it was nothing to him, being awash in feelings of gratitude instead of dread or pain.
Today I found myself reaching for the seat buckle while we zoomed over the bridge by UW on our way to my ECT appointment. I imagined falling or flinging myself from the car to a swift and bloody end. I yearned for the relief, the guarantee that this darkness would never find me again once I was dead and gone. Instead I told my husband of the dark thought's visitation.
It was bad enough to have the thought occur to me but to then have my husband telling me to talk to hospital staff if the thoughts get worse or walk myself to the Emergency Department... how can I express the disappointment I felt? The sadness and grief and fear?
Just rip my heart out.
I struggle to see the path to better days but I'm well aware of my skewed perspective. It makes me feel sick and ashamed of myself. I'm so very sick of this struggle, of watching my life ooze by in paralyzed stupor. I'm so very sick of the repulsion and embarrassment, pain and shame I feel toward myself and this terrible struggle that hijacks my existence.
Can you comprehend just how sick of this struggle I am? It's like being your own bully and it's so very demoralizing.
Sunday, December 20, 2015
Surprise! *barf*
Today was my family gift exchange. A gift exchange that my sister routinely avoids and disparages, pointing out that our extended family is not that close. Not news to anyone, but sometimes it's fun and the hubs and I have always gone. Not a second thought this year, simply a to-do to attend the exchange but guess who showed up for the first time in years? with her new baby and baby daddy? My sister.
The big stink (in my hubby's opinion) was getting no heads up from my mother who knows that my sister is a trigger for me. He's pissed. We're even less likely to visit my parents for Christmas (still can't decide on a firm no) now as being around my sister was unpleasant and upsetting for me. The shaking subsided pretty quickly but the knot in my gut persisted. I couldn't look at her or the baby, I just tried to focus on the exchange moving along and getting out of there.
I cried on the way home. Angry at myself for feeling that way and thinking it was stupid of me to have such a reaction, angry at my mother for not having my interests in mind even a little bit, and sad to think of disappointing my dad by not being home for Christmas.
All that said, I feel like I'm not totally bottoming out. Sad and disappointed, but hanging in there. I hope it stays that way. Not the best way to end the weekend though, especially with the psychiatrist already recommended having the baby in daycare Monday because of a change in my harmful thoughts a couple times. More mess to my life. Tomorrow could be rough, but we'll have to wait and see and be careful.
****
Okay, maybe it's just a delayed onset cuz I'm starting to feel angry and weepy and tense! Ergh....
The big stink (in my hubby's opinion) was getting no heads up from my mother who knows that my sister is a trigger for me. He's pissed. We're even less likely to visit my parents for Christmas (still can't decide on a firm no) now as being around my sister was unpleasant and upsetting for me. The shaking subsided pretty quickly but the knot in my gut persisted. I couldn't look at her or the baby, I just tried to focus on the exchange moving along and getting out of there.
I cried on the way home. Angry at myself for feeling that way and thinking it was stupid of me to have such a reaction, angry at my mother for not having my interests in mind even a little bit, and sad to think of disappointing my dad by not being home for Christmas.
All that said, I feel like I'm not totally bottoming out. Sad and disappointed, but hanging in there. I hope it stays that way. Not the best way to end the weekend though, especially with the psychiatrist already recommended having the baby in daycare Monday because of a change in my harmful thoughts a couple times. More mess to my life. Tomorrow could be rough, but we'll have to wait and see and be careful.
****
Okay, maybe it's just a delayed onset cuz I'm starting to feel angry and weepy and tense! Ergh....
Tuesday, December 1, 2015
We'll See
It's a "we'll see where this goes" type of day. A shitty start for sure but I'm not writing it off yet.
I had a difficult time waking up and then when I finally had I realized that lying in bed this morning I had thought BB was dead, and I sort of didn't care. I usually panic and think he's dead pretty often but this time a bigger part of me hoped it were so, just so I could be relieved from duty.
I told the hubs about this and also how I had wanted to hurt the baby (I brought him out to his dad when those thoughts happened) and we decided that BB was too sick to go to daycare for the day. I was crestfallen. The hubs asked if I wanted him to stay home in that way that means he wants to go to work and my mood plummeted deeper.
Long story short I told him "fuck off" at least half a dozen times and told him that if he gave me my tweezers back he could go to work. He didn't give me my tweezers back, but he gave me another pair of angled tweezers from his confiscated collection and my heart broke a little more again. He knows what I do with tweezers. He knew I was in a bad place. It was like he chose work over me. I understand he's gotta make a living but it was crushing.
I ended up scratching myself in a waffle pattern on my left forearm in front of him. He just watched and talked. Even afterward waffling about going to work or not. At that point I didn't care anymore. Fuck him. I started laundry and a dinner in the Crock-Pot, aiming for the day that I had planned out in my mind had I been childfree.
In the end, he ended up staying home. Citing a sinking feeling in his gut. I didn't care. I have mostly been ignoring him and the baby.
Fuck. My life's a mess.
In other news, I am now the proud owner of a little jug of stool softener tablets. When I opened the bottle I laughed and smiled. They are cute as far as pills go.
So. I'm plugging along. Don't think my meds are worth shit, don't want to take them, will talk to my psych about it Friday.
Haven't been wearing my wedding ring for over a week (or my other regular ring). Part of it is the fact that they are loosey goosey, part of it is that my hands are horribly dried out and not having rings on makes lotioning up easier, and part of it is that I don't feel like they mean what they used to mean. It is troubling. This depression is some of the worst of my life.
Angry. Sad. Weary. I'm so mixed up in bad ways just giving up and doing whatever I damn well please is the only relief. As such, I'm gonna go sketch as I damn well please. Screw dwelling on this shit!
Bananaface out.
I had a difficult time waking up and then when I finally had I realized that lying in bed this morning I had thought BB was dead, and I sort of didn't care. I usually panic and think he's dead pretty often but this time a bigger part of me hoped it were so, just so I could be relieved from duty.
I told the hubs about this and also how I had wanted to hurt the baby (I brought him out to his dad when those thoughts happened) and we decided that BB was too sick to go to daycare for the day. I was crestfallen. The hubs asked if I wanted him to stay home in that way that means he wants to go to work and my mood plummeted deeper.
Long story short I told him "fuck off" at least half a dozen times and told him that if he gave me my tweezers back he could go to work. He didn't give me my tweezers back, but he gave me another pair of angled tweezers from his confiscated collection and my heart broke a little more again. He knows what I do with tweezers. He knew I was in a bad place. It was like he chose work over me. I understand he's gotta make a living but it was crushing.
I ended up scratching myself in a waffle pattern on my left forearm in front of him. He just watched and talked. Even afterward waffling about going to work or not. At that point I didn't care anymore. Fuck him. I started laundry and a dinner in the Crock-Pot, aiming for the day that I had planned out in my mind had I been childfree.
In the end, he ended up staying home. Citing a sinking feeling in his gut. I didn't care. I have mostly been ignoring him and the baby.
Fuck. My life's a mess.
In other news, I am now the proud owner of a little jug of stool softener tablets. When I opened the bottle I laughed and smiled. They are cute as far as pills go.
I figure you can make just about any pill two-colored like that but the fact that they did it for stool softeners just tickles me! Maybe there is something to it that I don't know, some insider story, but as is, they reminded me of candy canes (it being the season) and that cheered me.
Speaking of seasonal cheer, Baby Bananaface encountered his first Santa Sunday. It was hilarious! Our little attention hound turned chicken and it was precious.
So. I'm plugging along. Don't think my meds are worth shit, don't want to take them, will talk to my psych about it Friday.
Haven't been wearing my wedding ring for over a week (or my other regular ring). Part of it is the fact that they are loosey goosey, part of it is that my hands are horribly dried out and not having rings on makes lotioning up easier, and part of it is that I don't feel like they mean what they used to mean. It is troubling. This depression is some of the worst of my life.
Angry. Sad. Weary. I'm so mixed up in bad ways just giving up and doing whatever I damn well please is the only relief. As such, I'm gonna go sketch as I damn well please. Screw dwelling on this shit!
Bananaface out.
Friday, November 13, 2015
Sisters-The Backstory and/or A History Lesson
I include this video for many reasons. So many reasons I cannot quite spit them all out on cue, but a big reason is because my sister and mother and I have a long history of regimented Christmas-mania.
Only recently I have begun to count myself out of their obsession, having gained some healthier perspective and developed my own traditions, but back in the hey-day the holidays would begin only after Thanksgiving, Christmas decorations would have to be over the top and painstakingly positioned and agonized over before being rearranged and then put back again, many baked goods would be made, gifts wrapped as perfectly as possible, and a variety of Christmas movies watched at least once but sometimes many, many times throughout the season. All ethereal rules that were created and enforced without speaking.
Now, don't think that my mother is a decorating maven or any sort of Martha Stewart or Betty Crocker. The perfectionism is on the part of me and my sister, birthed out of the unending comparison and competition between siblings in my family. The love/hate relationship between the sisters in White Christmas? Not quite us, we have barely a teaspoon of love, hardly any fun or speaking terms, no support, but the deceit and feigned affection, manipulation and competition-yes, we have more than enough.
It's been that way a very long time. I remember horrible fights-physical and verbal-between us as youths and very often thinking that I did not want to have a sister, or that if my parents divorced she would be guaranteed to go with Mom so I could go with Dad and get away from her! We shared rooms off and on throughout our time at home and usually fought so horribly we would be again separated (eg. setting out tacks beside each other's bed or outside the bathroom when we got up in the middle of the night-yep, blood was drawn). Some normal sibling sisterly stuff, other, not so much.
I was the oldest, my brother was 18 months younger and the middle child, and my sister was 4 years younger, and the baby. My mother was the baby in her family, my dad was second oldest and then oldest when his favorite sister died unexpectedly a little over a decade ago. I know it's pretty natural and expected to have parents make exceptions or "baby the baby" and this happened in my family, no doubt, but it was almost always mom doing it and my sister and my dad-whew, cats and dogs in an oil and water arena.
What I believe is not normal, is the fact that my sister is still treated with kid gloves and my mother has told other adults (her friends or relatives, couches, teachers) that "you need to stop doing A because it makes (my sister) feel B" or procuring "playdates" of sort for my twenty-something sister.
All this micromanagement is complicated by the fact that quite a few people believe that my sister may be some type of Bipolar or have a personality disorder, at the very least anxiety problems. She's a powder keg with a very sensitive fuse and my mother runs interference for her (quite possibly always will) but on the flip side she will say horribly cruel and offensive things, straight-up lie, or manipulate people and if things turn on her (as they quite often do) cries and plays the victim or invokes protection and approval from my mother.
For me, as a sensitive person and one that with a low tolerance for sarcasm and meanness, my sister is a caustic, risky game of Roulette. I never know what I'm going to get and often I get burned. The very few times that I felt genuinely connected and that she was speaking honestly with me the interactions were quickly overturned and categorized as deft deceptions.
One highly relevant example would be when my sister came to meet my son. It was two weeks after the birth and she came for visit and fawned over our gorgeous baby. I can't remember much of the visit except for an odd off-hand conversation about what a bastard child was (related to something off Facebook) and as you all know that became quite topical.... anyways. It seemed like a great visit, I thought, "maybe she will be a good aunt."
Not quite two weeks later she was back again, supposedly visiting with my mother and coming to help me out since I was barely a month postpartum. No. They showed up with her new boyfriend and neglected to bring us food as we requested, chatted about themselves for 45 minutes while our stomachs rumbled and then proceeded to make me get up and go to the bedroom where my sister dramatically sat me down and told me she was pregnant. I held my cool for 5 minutes (they promptly left to fetch said promised meal at that point, ya know, since their business was done) and then I sobbed. The insensitivity of their visit appalled me, the dismissal I felt, the threat to my baby-dethroned at a month old! That's some of what I felt....
My postpartum depression issues set in after my sister passed twenty weeks. My psychiatrist would say it's a coincidence but my therapist says it's linked. I had been waiting for her to "lose the baby" that wasn't there or "I'm not really pregnant" like she had joked dozens of times before but no such luck. Our children would be 8 or 8 1/2 months apart and the stage set for a lifetime of comparison.
Comparison, that dirty word that had torn apart my childhood and left me with a torn patchwork quilt of a family. My mother loves to call that ragged quilt a marvelously crafted masterpiece, but whatever she call it, it leaves me shivering.
As I knew mom with a pregnant sister I became a convenient source for her dramatized questions or tales of woe (AKA common symptoms) or, as happened during our trip to Leavenworth, the magical elixir to her breakdown after her baby moved around too much (I told her eating half a cheese pizza and then a couple root beer floats before lying down was gonna set any baby up to kick ribs and sent her for a walk, the sobs stopped and she shuffled out, I wasn't buying the drama, so she stopped selling).
I have had dips in my mood around landmarks in her pregnancy: the baby shower I ended up in the hospital, her due date I went down to a terrible low involving self-harming, finding out about the birth was okay initially and then a bad day to finish. I'm working now on getting those feelings out and then trying to separate the issues with my mother and my sister and the baby.
And on that note, I'm not a terribly cold auntie, I sent an outfit and a card over for the little one... but I must say, the feelings and thoughts that came up with that were "she doesn't deserve this much" and a poisonous sense of superiority and resentment. As I said, separating feelings is on the docket!
It's still raw for me. The pregnancy and all those hurt feelings. In my family, relationships aren't healthy, things get taken personally more than they get completely ignored and her getting pregnant just as I had my baby.... it feels like a personal attack, another move in the comparison game, and yet another disappointment in my sister whom has berated, deceived, lied, hurt, and confused me for as long as I can recall. I don't think I know her that well at all.
What does the future hold for us as sisters? I have no clue but I do know that right now I am keeping my bruised and battered self as far away as I can and as hard as it is for me to own my own feelings or opinions, I feel really justified in that decision. Now THAT is saying something!
I don't understand all these ins and outs, but this is what I know for now.
That'll do Me, that'll do.
---
Thursday, November 12, 2015
Last Night
Last night I was agitated, fidgety, feeling paranoid and jumping at every sound. My foot bobbed and my fingers fiddled, I tried to read and eventually fell asleep with the light on. No one climbed up our balcony, no one broke in, no one snatched or killed my baby, we woke up this morning to another day.
I'm not sure if it was meds or if I'm just that depressed and anxious again, but this morning I had a superstitious moment of "So that was it..." when the hubs gently broke it to me that my sister had her baby. It happened last night just before 11:00 pm, a Veteran's Day baby.
So. It happened, this thing I've been dreading for about 7 months. I feel something but it's so deep I can't understand it yet. Part of me just doesn't give a flying rat assed fuck (no, I don't know what that is) and then this other part of me is angry and a wittle part of me is sad at the distance between my family and not feeling closer. But when my mother passive aggressives about it in the texts to my husband, kinda stokes my fire and flushes my caring.
What I do know is that this lady gets to pick out an easy chair!
I'm not sure if it was meds or if I'm just that depressed and anxious again, but this morning I had a superstitious moment of "So that was it..." when the hubs gently broke it to me that my sister had her baby. It happened last night just before 11:00 pm, a Veteran's Day baby.
So. It happened, this thing I've been dreading for about 7 months. I feel something but it's so deep I can't understand it yet. Part of me just doesn't give a flying rat assed fuck (no, I don't know what that is) and then this other part of me is angry and a wittle part of me is sad at the distance between my family and not feeling closer. But when my mother passive aggressives about it in the texts to my husband, kinda stokes my fire and flushes my caring.
What I do know is that this lady gets to pick out an easy chair!
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