Honestly.

I had ECT this morning. Now, it's this afternoon and I'm recuperating on the couch, watching a movie called "50/50." If you haven't seen it, I'd recommend it-just, maybe not on a day when you're keenly aware of your own illness.

Not too long ago I paused the movie and lurched off the couch and creaked down the hall to the bathroom. The boys had been playing for a bit and somehow I couldn't put it together where they were... Mind you, we live in a three-bedroom apartment. 

Standing in that hallway there was an open door to our bedroom on my right, a closed door ahead of me, and an open door on my left to the bathroom. They weren't in our bedroom or the bathroom and I couldn't remember what was behind the door in front of me.

I couldn't visualize BB's room. I could hear the boys playing and I couldn't imagine where they were. I forgot where his bed was, the blue mini-trampoline by the toy box and his bookshelf. I could hear their voices and had no idea the space they inhabited, the physical plane where they existed, what they could possibly look like behind that door.

My breath caught and the tears came. I stifled sobs and ducked into the bathroom, collapsing onto the floor in the dark. My nose ran. I wiped away tears and tried to keep quiet. Sucking air as I scrambled onto BB's plastic IKEA stool, I swiped at the door until it was mostly closed and slumped against the cabinet.

I was sick. I am sick. 

It's not usual for people to forget what their son's bedroom-a room they're in everyday-looks like. It's not usual for people to be getting IV sticks more than ice cream cones. When I can't remember what I read on the gym whiteboard or any part of the Super Bowl that I watched with the hubs, my gym friend, and our sons... it's not average. It's not a personality trait. It's a side effect. 

I'm sick. I'm sick and there's no cure. I can-I have-achieved remissions. I won't always be experiencing such dramatic side effects. I'm still sick. I'm still hitting up the pharmacy more often than most people visit The Olive Garden or some shit... I mean, you should see my medicine "cabinet." Honestly, I should be upgrading my storage options, 'cuz it's a cluster, I tell ya what.

Honestly. That word. It's a tough one for me. I have a difficult time gauging what's "honest" and what's "dramatic." Maybe that's because sometimes the honest truth is dramatic. Well, I don't want to be dramatic and I want to honest, so not only am I writing this post-I'm sharing some pictures that I've only ever shown to the hubs (well, he's not even seen some of them!).

So. Here goes. Some pictures. And more about my experience of being sick-not that I'm nearly as sick as some people! I know that it could be worse. I just want to be honest about how bad it is. I think a lot of it's about admitting to myself what I'm feeling... I've been opening up to some gym friends lately and it's a little confusing being so "chill" when I'm feeling so bad some days-ANYWAYS. Here goes.

I'm just gonna do it. (might've shared some of these before, just so ya know)

Heading into ECT w/ my hair net.
We put gowns over our street clothes
& cram all our belongings into bright green bags
that they leave at the foot of our bed during treatment.
Sometimes I'm lucky and get the Bair Hugger!

I got a butterfly IV today. Really easy stick too!
Took a picture to taunt the hubby-

Guess it's all about perspective, eh?
He's not one for needles-

Annual blood work does him in.
Kind of lucky that
I'm the "sick" one in that way!

Coming out of ECT.
This seems like my uniform of late-
striped cap, green sweater, Crocs!
It looks like I've been crying, although
I'm usually just misty-eyed post-anesthesia. 

Recovering last week at my parents' w/ BB
eating "yee-gurt" and watching Olympics.

Today.
Hard to see the goop on my temple from treatment-it's there.
Watching a movie about cancer made my cap feel way more "sicky!"
Hurt pretty bad post-treatment today.
Worst in a long time.
Getting a bit better now.

Found this from last month.
I can't remember exactly-I think we went
to the ER. The hubs claimed that he called
ahead and that they "had a room." Later
he admitted that he didn't know, he just told me
so to get me to the hospital.
Smart man.

So, I'm lying on the couch with a mass pillows and extra soft couch blankets (we're "couch blankets" people around here) and posting all these pictures... I feel like I've said something and not enough. Earlier, those sobs, that pain, I really, truly, deeply felt it. Now I feel numbed again. "It's not that bad" again.

Tapped for now.

Thank you. Love and hugs and gratitude and smiles. I'm getting back to "my life" more and more, hopefully that means more blogging. Even if it doesn't quite yet, know that I think of you all!

Bonus pic:

Made it to 29!
First official (29 yrs) bracelet :o)
PS: Good game in the background!

Still Here

Tomorrow the hubster foiled my would-be attempt by having my dad drop by the apartment unannounced. My dad took care of BB while I slept most of the afternoon (or laid in the dark contemplating new strategies) and until the hubby got home that evening.

Apparently the hubster got me into a drug trial down in Portland. Since things with ECT have slowed down because of needing that EKG and bloodwork (which seems so simple) he wanted to act more quickly.

Feeling broken. Broken and split. I can feel that my brain isn't working. Part of me feels like ending my life is the best thing for everyone involved. Part of me sees the illness and a life worth living as separate... as the hubster was having me say last night, "I'm out of my mind." That bout covers it.

One day at a time. Gonna be under supervision for foreseeable future. Can't blame them considering I was driving in the rain without my windshield wipers on going 55 in the right lane completed spaced yesterday...

Life is messy right now.


Had a few interesting dreams and stories to share-maybe later. My head hurts and food must be consumed.

Be well.

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)

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)

Another Day, Another Dip

Today was one of those days that starts out a bit rocky. You think you can right the boat and paddle on and then everything tips and you're in the drink.

I was feeling down from the get-go. The malaise of a depressive episode shadowing my every move. I made it a point to make it to the gym-I even did two classes back-to-back this morning. That would usually turn my mood around and get me going. Instead, I felt bored. They challenged me a bit, though afterward I didn't get my usual post-workout high. I was simply back to the grindstone.

I felt hungry and yet didn't want to eat. I did anyway.

We took Baby Bananaface for a drive to help him get a proper nap in and for the most part enjoyed the drive and time to chat together. Toward the end of the drive though-we were discussing our relocation to the new area and long term plans-just a few misplaced feelings and fumbling statements pushed my mood over the safety rails.

Whatever bit of recovery I had made from the earlier episode(s) this week crumbled. I began avoiding eye contact. Not speaking. My face slack. Tears falling easily. Thoughts of suicide tactics and self-harming urges flying through my mind.

At one point the hubs tried to get me to promise that I wouldn't hurt myself. Even narrowing his request to encompass only this afternoon, only this evening. only this night, only today. Even then I couldn't say the words. I found myself saying, "How do you define 'hurt yourself?' What if it's better than killing myself?" It got very dysfunctional very fast. There was even some tousling and wrestling as I tried to escape his hugs.

Eventually he managed to get me into bed. Got me to drink a little water. Take some anti-anxiety medication.

As I laid there, desperate thoughts still clattering through my brain-I found myself a surprising respite. I imagined the hubster and BB in a new home. Tall ceilings and lots of windows and natural light. There was a peaceful, petite woman cooking in the kitchen. She watched as they played in the dining area, smiling as she diced and measured and stirred. She had sandy blonde hair and dark blue eyes. She loved them and she was there for them, able to provide and contribute and be a stable, consistent, supportive part of the family. She loved them. He loved her. BB loved her. They were all calm and grateful and happy.

Imagining the scene slowed my heart rate and my thoughts. Brought tears to my eyes and heavy sighs out my throat.

The meds started to kick in. Still, I felt haunted by plots to sneak out a window and walk down back roads toward the bay to swim away until I simply couldn't keep myself afloat any longer. I even had a thought of taking the family dog (my sister adopted it and my parents mostly take care of it and they all complain about her) with me and somehow managing to have both of us obliterated by a train. It seemed like a nice thing to do to get rid of a dog that annoys everyone along with the burden I supply!

Now I'm regaining some perspective. Still quite aware of the darkness. Still quite susceptible. Still convinced that I'm not worth the breaths I take.

Part of me knows that those thoughts will fade and a healthier outlook will return. Part of me has scooped up that sticky rationale that I'm beyond repair and not anywhere near the trouble or bother it takes to keep my alive through these episodes.

If this isn't the bottom, I'm certainly on my way for another visit.

Back to the battleground I go.

Fruit Salad Post

I'm just gonna go for it and throw in a handful of the thoughts and feelings that are with me today and let this post turn into whatever it is meant to become!

A) I really appreciated this blog post and how it helped simplify and validate my disorder while also providing some concrete tools for improving communication with others. I don't get to talk with people in this fashion about bipolar II very often but it's something that I would like to feel confident talking about if ever I got the chance.

*I was concerned about the comments she made about bipolar being highly genetic and the 50% stat she threw down, but the hubster has reassured me that it is more complex and less stark/severe than that and that I shouldn't feel like Baby Bananaface is a timebomb or that I've poisoned him... he found some other statistics that were more realistic and thankfully, reassuring. That said I am not an expert on this so I can't clarify what the "truth" is, I just don't want anybody freaking out like I did!

B) I've been having a lot of feelings about my aunt's passing and my relationship with my cousin and some of that involves feeling grief but also shameful or fearful or upset about the distance that has evolved between me and my cousin and my sorta-uncle (I don't call him "Uncle __" I just call him "__" and they weren't officially married til later in their relationship so... it's confusing but I like the guy). 

Part of the reason that distance evolved was because of my postpartum depression and the fact that I was in the hospital while my aunt was in a different hospital dying. She had had cancer for months prior to that and I hadn't seen her because she was a heavy smoker and I had stopped visiting years before because it was physically uncomfortable and very emotionally painful for me to see her and "__" smoking and, in my eyes, hurting themselves. I feel like a part of me knew that a very painful end was coming and I backed away early because I just didn't know how to cope with all the feelings I was having at the time.

Since she died I've been more and more expressive about my sadness but I've felt a little odd and "on the outside" of the grief since I didn't see her during her sickness and death. It feels like my cousin and my sorta-uncle and my first family have more license to be sad than I but I think this is the mark of an invalidating family structure, a part of the ongoing battle I experience around being myself and being okay with that... 

The fact is that I was too sensitive to watch my aunt slowly kill herself and I had to get distance, I had a lot going on in my own life and my mental health issues prevented me from coping with that high stress situation and prevented me from seeing her not only while she was sick but before then too. The fact is that my experience is unique and different from everyone else's and it happens to involve grieving from a greater distance and I am thankful that I protected myself from potentially very traumatic memories surrounding her disease and death. It has made things awkward, but I really don't regret my decision to run for the hills when I did-it was the best I could do for myself and that's all I can hope for. I don't know if I'll ever regain as close a relationship with my sorta-uncle or cousin but I can't blame myself for that, I can just do my best and be me and hope for the best.

*Still sorting through this, but that splat of feelings certainly helps!

C) I have a little update related to reintroducing myself to myself (I talked about feeling like a stranger in my own life the other day and the hubbo suggested reframing my loss of self as a journey to rediscover myself, to reintroduce myself)... On Monday I was up to some good ole Hannah mischief! Here's the scoop:

The hubster had a dentist appointment to get a filling. He's been complaining about it for weeks because he hates the feeling of the needle they use to numb him up and generally isn't a fan of the dentist anyway. That morning as I was driving home from the gym I had an inspiration to make him a little encouragement card and drop it off at the dentist's so they could give it to him when he checked in. I made him a little card with a scattering of shiny red foil hearts and a grumpy Garfield cartoon and a little note and dropped it off just before the dentist's office went to lunch. 

That afternoon I could cheery text from the hubster about "running into Garfield at the dentist's" and he was so grateful for the card! I was so glad I could help him relax and also grateful I could feel like myself again. It was a wonderful moment and I'm hoping I can continue to build on the positive vibes.

D) Overall, my wellness is improved. The jitters are gone and I'm off my Latuda now (we are keeping a watchful eye out for any symptoms that may crop up related to this). I am still struggling with anxiety but I've been able to use my DBT skills to help me cope and there is a little piece of me that sidling up to the idea of thinking of a future, looking ahead, buying into life more-and that's a big deal.

I still very much feel like a work in progress (and/or a "hot mess") but I feel like I'm starting to push back against those dark, sticky ideas that I'm worthless and hopeless and while that bit of fight in me feels a little strange, it also feels a little good too. 

E) Here are this week's "Words for Wednesday" prompts provided by River:

1. energy

2. caravan

3. drop

4. whispering

5. farmer

6. tracker

and/or

1. slinging

2. risking

3. young

4. absolute

5. morsels

6. contain

and/or

"the headlights were the only illumination on the single lane road"

I didn't write anything based on the prompts but wanted to share them around in case anyone needed some inspiration! :o)

F) Bonus link for anxiety disorder related boost-ya-up/perk :o)

So there is this fruit salad post, hope it doesn't hurt yer eyes too much!

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

Changing It Up

The past week has been a rough one. I've been writing down when I have certain symptoms (jitters, anxiety, panic) to prove to myself that I'm experiencing certain side effects and my little sticky note chart came in handy at my psychiatrist appointment Tuesday.

It's pretty obvious from my notes and the hubster's and my testimonies that I've been having akathisia and increased anxiety, likely due to the increase in my mood stabilizing medication, Latuda. We've also been concerned about my use of benzodiazepines for anti-anxiety as they have been known to increase impulsivity/reduce inhibition and with my suicide attempt April 11th, the hubster has been paying close attention to my anti-anxiety use and helping me make sure that I'm not too distraught when I take them so I'm less likely to hurt myself or act on those bad thoughts. It's been tough but I learned some different tricks to help calm me down in DBT class that are coming in handy...

Anyways. The "Changing It Up" part of things is a new, lower dose of the Latuda and a different anti-anxiety medication called gabapentin. The gabapentin comes in a big bottle and I take it up to three times a day which makes me feel a little ridiculous but I try to remember to be kind to myself and not judge, to remember that it doesn't matter how many pills I have to take, it's about getting myself to feel better. We should know by the end of the week if these new doses/pills are going to help me.

The physical symptoms have been rough but the mental reaction has been challenging as well. I haven't been reacting as poorly as I could (no self injury or major suicidal ideation), I have been somewhat gentle with myself but I am quite resistant, down on myself, and upset at the jittery and anxious feelings and the negativity just makes me more miserable. Doing the surveys before my psychiatrist appointment made me realize just how depressed the increased anxiety and akathisia has made me-I knew that my anxiety survey would be high but my depression survey surprised me!

Thankfully my psychiatrist was supportive and my therapist was quite helpful at my appointment Monday as well; reminding me about changing my reactions and making my thoughts more positive and helpful. It's difficult, and I have a long way to go to making my brain automatically chill itself out, but I feel like I am aimed in a better direction now and that helps. Between the DBT skills and the new pills I feel like I'm doing something to try and improve the situation and that is a vast improvement on feeling miserable and helpless.

So. I'm trying to be gentle with myself, stay positive in the face of some frustrating symptoms and patient while I wait for the medication changes to set in. I'm also trying to cut back on my self-pity and dwelling on the frustration and move toward being more proactive, active, and tricky when it comes to utilizing DBT skills and coping that way instead of letting things get the better of me and feeling like I am powerless.

I haven't been as social or active lately on the blog scene, but I did get to read and comment a bit today which felt good... hope to get back into my old blog groove now that the A-to-Z is over but it's another transition of sorts.

Hope everyone is having some better days while I'm juggling these nasty ones! I've been able to do some laundry, some Sudoku, and even cleaned the bathroom floor so it's not all bad! :o)

One day-one hour-one minute at a time... nice deep breaths and I'll make it through! I can do this!

We interrupt this A to Z Challenge for an update...

It's not an especially pleasant update. 

I must include a TRIGGER WARNING.

---------------------------------------------------------------

I wrote this earlier during the car ride to pick up Baby Bananaface from daycare and snapped the pictures once I got home:

It's a rainy Tuesday here in Western Washington. I'm enjoying the sound of raindrops on the rhododendron leaves, the soft petals trembling as cold drops splash on vibrant pink blooms while the hubster and I walk to the car on our way to pick up BB from daycare. My cheeks are flushed from impromptu afternoon lovemaking, my hair wet from the steamy shower I took afterwards to wash out the goo from my ECT treatment earlier in the day.

As we drive to the daycare I feel a confusing blend of gratitude, joy, and fear. My lovely afternoon followed an emergent ECT appointment because I had tried to kill myself the previous morning. 

It was Monday. I drank my coffee, ate a donut, and then abruptly decided that next on my schedule was putting a plastic bag over my head, taping it shut around my neck, and taping my hands together in a towel so that I couldn't tear open the bag around my head when the end came. I made the bed, spritzed my pillows with a lavender oil diffusion, turned off the lights, and cranked up my heated throw to make things extra cozy. 

The only reason I'm here writing about this is because I wanted to hear the hubster's voice one last time, or at least get a text from him. Since he didn't respond to my text I called. I tried to be inconspicuous but he caught on. He raced home, talking to me over speaker phone the entire way trying to keep me from doing what I'd already done. I knew hanging up would lead to him calling the police and not only did I not want to be interrupted I didn't want anyone breaking down our door. I yelled to the hubster through the plastic bag that I was fine and lied in a vain attempt to explain away the sound of duct tape being unfurled and then focused on slowing my breathing and calming down. 

At some point the dog started barking, followed shortly thereafter by the hubster bursting into the bedroom. He lept onto the bed and tore at the bag around my face. Once he had ripped all the plastic, towel, and tape away we both broke into sobs and clung to each other.

"All I could think of was you," I sobbed, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." 

I could say that I've put my husband through a lot, but I think that it's important for me to rephrase that and say that my disorders have put us both through a lot. 

I apologized over and over but he simply focused on the next steps: getting me on the ECT schedule as soon as possible, calling my psychiatrist, and getting back on track. I said that I didn't want to go to therapy that night and he asked if I would go if he went, I agreed. That's just how he rolls. A moment to weep and then back to business. 

I can't imagine what he's been through but I'm amazed that he stays with me, that he's always focused on moving on, and that his love only seems to grow. I never knew I could love someone so much or feel so loved. It's not the same as my love for Baby Bananaface, it's a different magical thing-not the natural, biological love for my own child that yielded so easily to my suicidal impulses, but an "against all odds, nonsensical, miraculous" sort of love. 

A life-saving love.

---------------------------------------------------------------

The docs wanted me back in the hospital, but I declined. I am going back in for more ECT Friday and am working very closely with my therapist; checking in by text or phone call multiple times a day to make sure that I'm keeping busy and staying safe. 

A chickadee BB and I saw when we all got home.
I couldn't get a pic of the squirrel we saw,
he was too squirrely!

When I met with my therapist Monday night she said she wasn't convinced the hospital was the best place for me either because in the hospital I wasn't learning to cope with life or function in the real world. She asked if I could promise not to kill myself while working with her (I did) and then described the plan to keep in contact throughout the day until I was safer, saying that keeping me busy and helping me build a sense of self worth (I said I felt useless and like I was just a burden to the hubby because I didn't do anything all day) might be more worthwhile in the long run. 

So that's the plan. Reintegrating chores, making dinner a couple times a week to help me feel like I'm contributing, working with my ECT doc to get me out of this slump, taper off more conservatively than before, and upping my medication. Therapy and DBT class are also part of the plan and I'm reaching out to FB friends and family to help improve my sense of belonging and create a security network to help keep me more accountable. 

Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, one thing at a time-I'm still going. 

This day so far... (and notes from last night)

I have been feeling UP!

Since doing the dishes hasn't happened in I don't know how long (I didn't even remember where the cutting boards went) and since doing any housework is an uber-achievement for me, I wanted to post these pics :)

And because I'm feeling jazzy I wanna add these just for kicks!

Happens to be my new profile pic as well-
that hasn't changed in YEARS!

Reminds me of Elvis.
Don't know if it's the belly and arm rolls
or the shades and 'tude. 

Runner-up for profile pic... or should it be #1?

Doodles.

Also wanted to post this funny pic of the hubs from last night.

I was texting (group texting) with my mom and sister (we're having a streak of "togetherness") and they text these weird cartoons that look like themselves and they were "text streaking" as I called it and then I posted a pic with a cartoon that looked like me (manual) so I could "text streak" back and then the whole I saw my grandmother naked 2-3 times while she was alive thing came up AGAIN. I catch flack and get teased about that way too much. In my personal opinion.  

I texted this back with "Take that." and did my
sassiest fishlips.

But anyways, I mentioned that family history to the hubs  while he was eating and he was very upset, making this face and saying "dude, my mouth was full." So that's what that picture is all about. :o)

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!

Caring Thoughts, Nice Read

Really related to this article and if there are any other bipolar ladies in the pregnancy arena they might appreciate it too?

My pregnancy went pretty well, no meds or major issues that I recall, but this postpartum. Sheesh. If only I'd been better prepared. If that would've even helped! I'm not sure!

Thinking of everyone and hoping they are well.

Be strong.

Status Update

I came across this article the other day and .... enjoyed isn't the right word, maybe "appreciated" is the right word? I appreciated this article. I felt encouraged and inspired and reassured  and that doesn't happen too often when it comes to embracing my bipolar disorder.

I'm not sure if I'm ready to "come out" other than through this blog and with my psych ward friends (we have our own secret FB group) but this article made me feel like one day, maybe I could be open about it, educate others, live healthier.... maybe. I don't know. We'll have to see.

I swear, I did not drug his Cheerios!

Yesterday I met with one of my ECT doctors to discuss my treatment and progress with the right side unilateral treatment and today I had my first bifrontal treatment with both electrodes on my forehead-not bilateral where they are on both sides-with one of the other doctors. Thankfully one of my favorite nurses did my IV and everything went really well, unlike Tuesday where the anesthesiologist ran my IV and fucked it up twice, once on each back of my hand (I'm still sportin' the bruises) before she got it in the crook of my arm. 

The anesthesiologist  I had today asked about my last experience and if there were any issues with anesthesia and while I hesitated at first she encouraged me and I told her about the torturous IV placement and she was understanding . This time went pretty well, a little sting but hardly noticeable as the sleepy juice went in. 

I also saw my psychiatrist this week and discussed my drugs.... oooh so many drugs. I have Lunesta, Klonopin, Ativan, and Latuda. I know some people have more, but for me, this is enough. Grr. 

Since I had some pretty bad days earlier this week she's thinking that we may have to up the Latuda in addition to switching up the electrode placement for ECT. Hopefully something will kick into gear, I'm sick of my life being on hold. 

It has been really been bringing me down not being able to clean my house, drive, having nausea and headaches, difficulty sleeping, trouble with jaw clenching and shoulder tension.... I'm just not feeling great. That said I have been laughing and joking more. So something is changing, however slowly. 

BB's funny blank face and the hub's happy face.

In good news, I have been feeling affectionate and attracted to the hubby (yay!) and loving toward the chitlin even though I don't have it in me to take care of him all that much... I get wore out pretty quick. I even play with Fio and cuddle some!

Also, it's been interesting having my mom, dad, and sister help get me to and from ECT. I've never let them see me so vulnerable and out of it (like today I panicked a bit when I couldn't remember if I had scheduled my next appointments) but they have surprised me in a good way. 

We still don't talk in too much detail about the bipolar but just the fact that they are acknowledging it and helping me get treatment in such an active and involved way (not just assuming I'm getting drugs/therapy and that it's working) is important to me.

Lastly, I'm sorry I haven't been reading or commenting around the blogosphere much, I just haven't been up to it. That said, ya'll are on my mind and I hope each of you and yours is doing well.

No, it's not a crime scene photo... he just passed out mid-bottle.
Also, he loves playing with leashes, cords, and remotes...

Losing the Battle (trigger warning: downer post)

Today I visited my psychiatrist. It felt like more of the same and I answered her questions but didn't care much about "the plan." I think the plan is going up on the lamictal and seeing if that works but her questions about my well being made me so sad I didn't even bother listening. It's all written up on a sheet she prints out before I leave anyways.

I was primed to be brought down into the depths because Tuesday the hubs started "Ferberizing" Baby Bananaface behind my back while I was out at yoga (it's like cry it out). The next night he sent me out for groceries around the baby's bedtime to avoid me hearing the crying but I came back (it took over an hour for him to get to bed) and heard it.

It made me sick to my stomach. Not just the crying, the betrayal and subjugation by my husband. I was sick to my stomach and mad as hell and muted. I feel like a non-entity. What do I matter if my opinions are ignored my feelings are meaningless and my well being is conditional upon others' convenience?

So it was no surprise that today was a dark day for me. I spent most of my afternoon in bed, lying in misery with my eyes shut or dozing (bonus) and for a brief moment or two writing down specific ways I could kill myself without much hassle.

The darkness was comfortable today. I cried a little as my thoughts descended into blackness but then was relieved at the comfort of ending my struggle. I was so disappointed and mad and frustrated with my husband I no longer cared how he found my body (in what state) and I felt so distanced from Baby Bananaface I simply had to think about him getting a new, better mother and I was so relieved.

I am curious if I die before a certain time if it would count as a postpartum death or if it would be Bipolar II? Do they even mark such things? Or is it simply suicide-yadda yadda? That would seem awfully short sighted, but who knows with the government?

Been thinking about calling a hotline and just don't know what I would say. I won't talk to the hubby beyond functional words and I refused dinner.... SIGH Guess it's my meds, Cream of Wheat, and Golden Girls. Maybe I'll shake it up with King of the Hill.

Losing the battle today, we'll see about tomorrow.

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.

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.

A Little Big Update

What's up with the meds?
So I was running high on lithium (thus the tremors and maybe a little of why my mild state of hypothermia on the mountain was a bit more kukoo than I expected) and now I'm back down to 900 mg at bedtime. The Seroquel wasn't working and I was already backing that down but my depression was so severe last week and the last couple days that my psychiatrist is ramping up that dialing down=I take 100 mg for two more nights and then no more Seroquel. Instead I have started taking Risperidone 1 mg and will for those next two nights and then up it to 2 mg at bedtime. I'm also taking Klonapin in the morning for anxiety. I'm not sure if it does anything....

Symptoms?
I'm having those "danger is everywhere" thoughts, feeling a little paranoid and irrational. It's pretty unlikely that our downstairs neighbor (been writing passive aggressive notes to us) is going to blow up her apartment in an attempt to kill us or sneak in and turn on our stove top to try and burn us down but that's where my mind goes lately. I'm having body aches and tiredness beyond tiredness, lack of appetite but nomming junk food and chocolate when nothing else sounds good (hell, the chocolate doesn't even sound good!), I have some angry outbursts still, been struggling to cope with the baby for very long, oversleeping, and still obsessive about my sister and my mother and not feeling like I'm moving on. Self-harmed on Monday, scratched my right forearm with my left nails. I should be disappointed in myself, but I just don't care.

Side Effects?
Still waiting for tremors to go away. Wiggly worm legs and arms after evening meds is back.

Motherhood?
Nursing during the day and sometimes in the evening but he bit me several times last week and this weekend and that had made me angry and not willing to breastfeed (along with my very poor mood). It's been better lately but I have a therapist telling me to wean and a psychiatrist asking if I am still breastfeeding so I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to make it. Part of me is heartbroken and disappointed, but for the most part I just don't care about much anymore.

Wifedom?
Ugh. The hubs and I have little moments or normality but lately there has been more lapses in communication and resentment building. I feel like he doesn't help me do certain things around the house but he's busy with work and taking care of me and the kid and the dog and other things, but I can't feel appreciative, I just feel frustrated and angry. He's not a saint, don't get me wrong, but my reactions are amplified for whatever reason and unreasonable... Part of me is concerned, but, again, for the most part I just don't care. I just don't want him to bother me. I just want to be alone. No kid. No husband. The dog is okay. Usually.


Overall?
Still not good. Not good at all. Today I got up at 8:30 am and made it through breakfast but ended up back in bed for 45 minutes before I could actually start my day. The hubs worked from home Monday, Tuesday, and today. This is not sustainable. I'm not functional. This isn't fun. And at the same time... fuck it. I just don't give a rip. I'm miserable, I'm sad, and I don't give a fuck.

So, not good.

I think I'm safe, but I did self-harm Monday and have had suicidal flashes. Psychiatrist wanted me back in the hospital and I said no it would "just set me up for another fall, I don't have support (IRL) when I get out and I just slide back down." She also recommended something called TMS which I haven't had much time to look into. So, I slog on.

Now, I shall draggeth myself to the gym.

Out and About and About and About

The chalkboard from a favorite sandwich place in downtown Olympia where we had lunch with my dad last Thursday. We then had drinks with my brother and dinner with the hubby's sister and eventually made it home in the cover of darkness and exhaustion. 

The picture of the white rock is from the hike we went on Saturday, Lake Twenty-Two. It's been quite a while but I kicked this hike's butt this time (it's kicked mine before so I think it's only fair).

These pictures are from our date day on Sunday; the hubs dealing cards at the local brunch spot we stumbled upon, the hub standing by a slug's poopy afternoon snack on a trail in the sea grass, and then a rather intrepid fuzzy caterpillar rippling it's way across the beach sand.

 I am quite fond of these caterpillars as I remember them from my elementary school years, we'd find them all over the school campus and "save them" from the concrete stomping grounds of our peers :) and ya know, I never knew til just now that they turn into these guys?

Our date day was nice but exhausting. We were down south Thursday and then to be doing that drive again and then some on Sunday was a bit much. I think we figured that Sunday was close to 8 hours of driving. !!!

In addition to seeing an awful lot of the inside of our car, we also saw a movie together for the first time in many moons. I actually enjoyed myself (once the nausea from my initial anxiety wore off) and I can recommend "The Martian" to those interested-even if you don't think you are, you'll probably enjoy it!

I'm pretty tired, read fatigued, and my shoulders are causing me grief almost constantly lately but it was good to get out. Sad to see that I am struggled to really feel happiness at the moment though. Tomorrow is the hubs' and my 3rd wedding anniversary and we have decided to hit the spa and get a couples' massage and soak in some hot waters etc. Looking forward to that but more than a day's respite I'd like to feel like our little family is in a safer, healthier space and that I'm making progress... as it is I'm feeling frustrated and discouraged and disappointing. 

Anyways. Maybe I can get on top of things and do a Monday Missive next week! OH-and the birds went through my sunflower hearts suet like it was cotton candy. I think I'm going to expand my bird feeding arsenal and try to keep them occupied a bit longer.... I'll try to get pictures of the visitors :)