I'm sure I've written about this before here. It comes up rather often for me, so it may just be a recurring theme in my life! As the hubster just comforted me, "It's the BPD. You have identity issues." That's okay.
So.
This morning as the hubster, Baby Bananaface, and I were eating brekkie we overheard my sister talking to her baby daddy about their mutual birthday gift idea for my nephew. He'll be turning two this fall and they've decided to go in on a motorized miniature Humvee for him. Not our style or something we see as appropriate for a child that age (or even BB's age).
Shortly thereafter I was in the shower and found myself playing out a scene in my head. It got me wondering if my sister sees our different parenting styles in a competitive light. I hope this isn't so as much as I struggle with insecurity and competitiveness, so I understand how she might feel.
The competitive conflict triggered my identity insecurities. While the initial trigger was related to parenting styles, I found myself thinking about my labels. I have embodied a klutzy fat girl persona for so many years it seems as much a part of me as my "Eeyore" identity in my family.
These labels, these judgments, stem from comparison and either/or thinking. In my case, the teasing and criticism over the years has reinforced and amplified these issues; I believe it's a symptom of my family's insecurities...
I've been seeing it come up at my gym among other places. Living with my family has made it extremely hard to avoid backsliding into those negative cycles and cowing to their teasing. I know part of me is my humor, there are more and more times of late when it comes up as a defense mechanism. Being around my family has made me slip back into my klutzy, fat girl routine. Even if I don't finish last or lift the lightest weight, I feel like the CrossFit caboose. I play down my abilities, doubt myself, and get caught up in chronic comparisons.
The constant internal critiquing is exhausting and debilitating. I had made a lot of progress with my self-confidence the past several months before moving here. Lately, it's been hard to stay comfortable in my body and appreciate the changes since I started working out.
My family may be varsity athletes, collegiate-level athletes, and nationally ranked athletes. That doesn't mean that I can't be athletic too.
I suffer from chronic depressive episodes. That doesn't mean that I can't be a happy person.
I carry extra weight. That doesn't mean that I have to ashamed and self-conscious.
There are so many negative habits from my first family that I have to fight back. These are just some of those habits that have become tangled up in my disorders.
It can be so confusing and destabilizing! No wonder I have to write it out from time to time ;o)
Wishing everyone a happy weekend! As far as my health status of late, I've been feeling much safer although the hubs and I keenly aware of my fragile status and susceptibility right now. We've been working in more time out of the house and avoiding triggers. Our backup plan involves me moving in my in-laws for a bit if things get dangerous again.
<3
Showing posts with label Insight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Insight. Show all posts
Saturday, August 26, 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)
Tuesday, February 14, 2017
My Birthday! (yep, it's a long post)
My birthday was yesterday and went pretty dang well, I must say. It was a busy day, but a happy day!
I started off my day at the gym, like usual. I took a class from one of the instructors I had given a card to and was a little anxious about what her reaction might be. She wished me happy birthday and then later on in class she sidled up to me and said, "By the way, your card was amazing."
She went on to say that her son saw the picture I drew and said it was so good they should frame it. She mentioned how much it meant to her and how sweet it was of me. We chatted a bit more and I felt really good and relieved that my card had been well received!
At the end of class she came up to me again and handed me an envelope. "I totally had this before you even gave me your card, I swear!" I opened it and saw a lot of writing so I decided to wait and read it in my car.
The message was so sweet. She mentioned how happy she was for me and how she was so proud of all the progress I've made and just amazed at how far I've come and what I've been through (I had shared my story with her before, so she knows about the whole twisted tale). She went on to say that she hoped I had a wonderful birthday and that she hopes to be around for my next birthday to see just how far I go this year.
I went home and relaxed a bit. Took a bit of extra time to pick out a "nice" outfit, do my hair, even put on makeup! I had class that afternoon and right before I worked up my courage to write a Facebook post that I had been contemplating... It included a selfie and blurb about what this birthday means to me as well as a thank you to any friends, family, providers, instructors, etc. that I hadn't thanked yet. It was a bit scary but felt so good (since then it has been well received so I feel relieved and encouraged!).
I picked up Baby Bananaface and we headed to the hubster's office. I had picked up chocolates as a Valentine's Day surprise and haphazardly hid them around his office (I also hid some around his morning routine route, he had to find 14 little individually wrapped chocolates all together).
We continued on south and met my parents, my sister, and my nephew for dinner. My brother couldn't make it but it did send along a card and that meant a lot to me. I made sure to say a formal thanks to my family for all that they've done to help me make it to my birthday. My mom and I cried but it was a good cry!
One of the highlights of the dinner was playing Soundball while we waited for the check. It is a game I learned at DBT and entails throwing an invisible ball to random people in the group-but that's not all. Before someone throws the ball, they have to repeat the sound that the person throwing it to them made up. Then they have to make up their own silly sound for the next person to repeat.
Things got serious. Lemme tell ya! We were laughing til we had tears in our eyes! Some of the noises were quite challenging and odd. By the end of it we weren't even doing the ball-throwing motion, but including our own random movements for the next person to mimic along with the goofy sounds! It was really fun and I really enjoyed myself.
The hubster and I a rather interesting conversation on the way home from dinner. My mom had made a comment at dinner that I'm "a completely different person" now and it made me wonder, who am I really? What was I before if not myself?
The hubby, as usual, seemed to have an answer without even needing time to mull it over.
He said something along the lines of, "I think you were repressed before. It was more than just the depression and anxiety being out of control. You weren't able to be yourself, your true self, for a long time."
This stirred my mental pot further. I was confused and concerned about how bubbly and energetic and social I've been. Maybe my birthday thank yous mission and cards were creepy or over-dramatic. I wondered aloud, "What if this isn't really me and I'm actually hypomanic right now?"
"Ahh. Well that's a good point. I think, though, that if you were hypomanic you'd be having sleep issues. You'd be more focused on big to-do lists and pursuing lots of projects and overextending yourself. You would have lost focus on what's important, what's healthy."
"So maybe, I'm not being hypomanic, I'm just not quite comfortable with me being... me yet? Like it's still unfamiliar and feels unsafe? That would make sense." I smiled and then frowned with further concerns. "But wait, if I wasn't me before, why would you have married me? Was I just depressed and awful all the time? How could you know the real me if I wasn't the real me?"
He laughed and smirked in his special way, patting me on the leg. "Because the good times were amazing. When we met, you were doing well. You'd talk about fun little chats and moments with the customers at the bank you worked at all the time. You gave me notes and doodles and little surprises. Sure, when the bad times came you were different, but I always knew the good side-the real you-that was underneath. It's been there all along."
It's all still confusing and a bit "who's on first" to me, but that chat felt really good and helped clear a lot of things up. I've still got a ways to go when it comes to accepting myself and building the confidence that will help me maintain my stability and life a successfully happy and healthy life, but I'm headed in the right direction. Day-by-day I'll get there.
It makes me cry thinking about how long he's been there for me. Recognizing and appreciating just how much he's helped me through, how he's stood by side and believed through it all that we'd find the real me through all that darkness. His faith and strength and resolve is stunning.
He's taught me so much about what love really is and I look forward to learning even more together. I really can't ask for anything more. He is my hero and so much more than I ever imagined a husband could be. Nobody's perfect, but I think we're perfect together and that's all that matters.
Thank you for all the birthday wishes :o)
Happy Valentines Day everybody :o)
Tuesday, January 31, 2017
Climbing...
Today I woke up in a better place. I started my day off on a better footing. My kindness and self-validation is returning. I'm feeling calmer and less afraid, less sad, worthless, and weak.
I think part of my upswing has to do with a conversation the hubster and I had last night. He started by pointing out how serious things were getting. That I didn't seem to be fighting back against the dark logic like I had been in previous blips. That we had to get on top of things and stop this from becoming a full-fledged episode.
After some hemming and hawing from me, lots of apologies and guilt and shame, he launched into a sort of monologue/rant (not usually his style). He said something along the lines of, "You should be proud. Not ashamed. Not guilty. You should be proud that you are here. You should be proud of how far you have come and what you have done, not just for yourself but for us, for your family. You don't have to feel guilty about all that time in the hospital or all the treatments or all the therapy. You should be proud of all the hard work you have done and all the tough times we have come through together. You would have done the same for me, I know you would've. We are moving forward and you don't need to look back and feel guilt or shame about all that we went through. That's the past. We're here and we're moving forward. Do you get that?"
I do get it. What he said did resonate with me. While it's still hard to internalize and really believe it in my bones, it's something I want to work toward accepting and integrating into my being. I'm a survivor. Sure, that means I've been through some shit and it's definitely been a costly, difficult journey, but it also means that I'm strong. I'm skilled. I'm dedicated. I love my family and friends and worked hard to stick around for them.
And that's worth being proud of.
Just like everything else I've worked toward, I'm gonna work those baby steps. One day at a time I'm gonna cultivate that pride. Planting those seeds and no matter how long it takes, I'm gonna get them growing. I'll never stop busting my ass to be better, to stay healthy, to be here for those I love and this is just the next leg of that journey.
I think part of my upswing has to do with a conversation the hubster and I had last night. He started by pointing out how serious things were getting. That I didn't seem to be fighting back against the dark logic like I had been in previous blips. That we had to get on top of things and stop this from becoming a full-fledged episode.
After some hemming and hawing from me, lots of apologies and guilt and shame, he launched into a sort of monologue/rant (not usually his style). He said something along the lines of, "You should be proud. Not ashamed. Not guilty. You should be proud that you are here. You should be proud of how far you have come and what you have done, not just for yourself but for us, for your family. You don't have to feel guilty about all that time in the hospital or all the treatments or all the therapy. You should be proud of all the hard work you have done and all the tough times we have come through together. You would have done the same for me, I know you would've. We are moving forward and you don't need to look back and feel guilt or shame about all that we went through. That's the past. We're here and we're moving forward. Do you get that?"
I do get it. What he said did resonate with me. While it's still hard to internalize and really believe it in my bones, it's something I want to work toward accepting and integrating into my being. I'm a survivor. Sure, that means I've been through some shit and it's definitely been a costly, difficult journey, but it also means that I'm strong. I'm skilled. I'm dedicated. I love my family and friends and worked hard to stick around for them.
And that's worth being proud of.
Just like everything else I've worked toward, I'm gonna work those baby steps. One day at a time I'm gonna cultivate that pride. Planting those seeds and no matter how long it takes, I'm gonna get them growing. I'll never stop busting my ass to be better, to stay healthy, to be here for those I love and this is just the next leg of that journey.
Tuesday, July 19, 2016
Leaning into my fears... a little bit
Therapy yesterday was particularly intense. Lots of tears, lots of fears. It was upsetting but at the same time was good to feel a bit of clarity and perspective. I can't explain everything exactly but I can say that I came away from the session with a new sense of appreciation for how much motherhood means to me and how my fears of failing Baby Bananaface and hubster and our little family can paralyze me. It was intimidating but very grounding having it pointed out that I do care about things, that I do find meaning in life, that I am attached to this world. Lately I've had several bouts of dark thoughts that have made me wonder about such things.
It's very easy for me to get swept up in sticky, dark thoughts that lead me into a wormhole filled with questions about what life means. I have a difficult time accepting the unknown and I think "What is the meaning of life?" is one of those big questions without a single answer, but instead more answers than anyone could count. In that way it's a question without a solid answer and that wears on my mind, it tortures me and trips me up and shoves me down into my darkest places at the drop of a hat but as I gain a little more strength of mind I find myself returning to my ideas of "lowercase faith" and exploring my personal beliefs and trying to build up a defense against the dark pattern of my negative thoughts.
When I can navigate around those dark thoughts and resist the pull toward hopelessness I find myself considering questions of honor and love and hope and faith. I find myself believing and finding comfort in the idea that I live my life for love and that I battle fear and hate. It's quite simplified but it helps bring meaning to the suffering and remind me of those wonderful things about life that are worth sticking around for.
I'm still susceptible to those dark thought patterns and it can be a quick slide into a suicidal mental landscape for me, but I think that as I build my coping skills through DBT and build my strength of faith and sense of meaning I will find myself more resilient. It's scary to confront these thoughts and all the unknowns, I certainly don't know where I'll end up or what life will look like down the road and that's a scary thing. I can only do my best and hope that things will turn out all right.
This isn't quite the post that I was trying to create. I feel like I've shied away from many of the biggest deep dark thoughts and the hopeful bright thoughts that I've encountered over the past week or so, but that's simply how it is right now. The feelings that get stirred up as I explore my thoughts are uncomfortable and I can't risk falling into a hole right now, so I tiptoed my way around them as best I could and tried to stay calm instead of digging deep and potentially getting myself whipped into a fretful frenzy!
Well, I don't know what else to type right now except I hope everyone is well and finds some peace and happiness today.
It's very easy for me to get swept up in sticky, dark thoughts that lead me into a wormhole filled with questions about what life means. I have a difficult time accepting the unknown and I think "What is the meaning of life?" is one of those big questions without a single answer, but instead more answers than anyone could count. In that way it's a question without a solid answer and that wears on my mind, it tortures me and trips me up and shoves me down into my darkest places at the drop of a hat but as I gain a little more strength of mind I find myself returning to my ideas of "lowercase faith" and exploring my personal beliefs and trying to build up a defense against the dark pattern of my negative thoughts.
When I can navigate around those dark thoughts and resist the pull toward hopelessness I find myself considering questions of honor and love and hope and faith. I find myself believing and finding comfort in the idea that I live my life for love and that I battle fear and hate. It's quite simplified but it helps bring meaning to the suffering and remind me of those wonderful things about life that are worth sticking around for.
I'm still susceptible to those dark thought patterns and it can be a quick slide into a suicidal mental landscape for me, but I think that as I build my coping skills through DBT and build my strength of faith and sense of meaning I will find myself more resilient. It's scary to confront these thoughts and all the unknowns, I certainly don't know where I'll end up or what life will look like down the road and that's a scary thing. I can only do my best and hope that things will turn out all right.
This isn't quite the post that I was trying to create. I feel like I've shied away from many of the biggest deep dark thoughts and the hopeful bright thoughts that I've encountered over the past week or so, but that's simply how it is right now. The feelings that get stirred up as I explore my thoughts are uncomfortable and I can't risk falling into a hole right now, so I tiptoed my way around them as best I could and tried to stay calm instead of digging deep and potentially getting myself whipped into a fretful frenzy!
Well, I don't know what else to type right now except I hope everyone is well and finds some peace and happiness today.
Sunday, June 26, 2016
Dawn at Midday
This afternoon I was driving home from yoga with Baby Bananaface snoozing in the backseat* when a realization came over me. It was a good but sad realization. I was conflicted with feelings of pity and disgust as well as a sweet release of acceptance and acknowledgment backed with the tang of self critique as it swept through me. Quite a whirlwind of emotions as I recognized this afternoon just how much trauma I've been through this past year and change.
It may seem obvious, like I've already accetped that I've endured trauma, but as I drove home today the acceptance spontaneously blossomed in me. I suddenly acknowledged the pain and hardship and loss that my mind has tried to hide and dismiss or belittle. Instead of feeling oblivious or shaming myself I felt the weight of it all come down upon me and saw just how far I've come and what I've endured. I felt grateful for my strength and my endurance instead of just feeling grateful for those that have helped me along this long, hard path. Instead of labeling myself a burden or a problem and giving all the credit to those who've helped me, I accepted my achievement. I've fought a long, hard battle for my life-somehow there is part of me that strives to live no matter how frequently I feel ready for death-and it's good to acknowledge that side of myself.
It was a strange feeling, sad and beautiful, quite humanizing too. I felt a bit of pride and belonging as I recognized myself as a fighter just like so many others battling disease or other unfortunate challenges in life or simply surviving, really. The internal criticism and minimizing still chirps in the background but having those nicer thoughts break through and thinking something positive about myself was so meaningful.
I was a little shocked to feel all this dawning on me after so many, many months; especially when I spend so much time thinking of my sickness and getting better, but the wise hubster was not surprised. "When you experience trauma it takes some time to accept it, to get past denial into acceptance and moving on. Totally normal." Just like him to take it all in stride! I felt bowled over by my emotional wave of self discovery, relating my afternoon moment of zen with tears in my eyes and a tinge of embarrassed pink in my cheeks but the hubster cradled me with his words as if he'd been waiting for me to tell him this for weeks... Anyways.
For a long time I have (unconsciously and consciously) berated myself for being sick, for not "sucking it up" and making due, for not "fixing it" and moving on. I thought that because I didn't suffer birth trauma I had no excuse to be feeling down, completely neglecting to recognize the trauma of postpartum depression, multiple hospitilzations, intensive ECT treatment, a suicide attempt, and countless other disruptions to my life. Those are traumas. These things count. I've been through some shit! I'm still in recovery and that's totally understandable because what happened to me was significant, it's gonna take some time to work through and work past.
I feel like a lot of this is stating the obvious and repeating things that I've wrote about in past posts but for me this things feel fresh and there is something novel and important about acknowledging these thoughts and feelings that came over me so randomly this afternoon. It's not all news to me but the feelings of acceptance, soothing, and understanding that came with this moment of realization have given me a new perspective on my life, a new abililty to be kind and gentle with myself, to validate myself, to better support myself in recovery and those are all very important things.
I'm sad as I acknowledge what I've been through and more fully appreciate the anguish of these dark times but I also feel a swell of glowing gratitude and feist as I appreciate the progress I've made on this journey and feel a little piece of me start to believe that I can make it back to where I want to be, that I can do this crazy thing called life, that I do have it in me... I'm not a weakling, a hot mess, or a lost cause. I'm a fighter.
* This was big doins. BB and I went to the gym and gave Daddy time alone at home! First time in a long time that I've been out alone with the babe. Progress!
It may seem obvious, like I've already accetped that I've endured trauma, but as I drove home today the acceptance spontaneously blossomed in me. I suddenly acknowledged the pain and hardship and loss that my mind has tried to hide and dismiss or belittle. Instead of feeling oblivious or shaming myself I felt the weight of it all come down upon me and saw just how far I've come and what I've endured. I felt grateful for my strength and my endurance instead of just feeling grateful for those that have helped me along this long, hard path. Instead of labeling myself a burden or a problem and giving all the credit to those who've helped me, I accepted my achievement. I've fought a long, hard battle for my life-somehow there is part of me that strives to live no matter how frequently I feel ready for death-and it's good to acknowledge that side of myself.
It was a strange feeling, sad and beautiful, quite humanizing too. I felt a bit of pride and belonging as I recognized myself as a fighter just like so many others battling disease or other unfortunate challenges in life or simply surviving, really. The internal criticism and minimizing still chirps in the background but having those nicer thoughts break through and thinking something positive about myself was so meaningful.
I was a little shocked to feel all this dawning on me after so many, many months; especially when I spend so much time thinking of my sickness and getting better, but the wise hubster was not surprised. "When you experience trauma it takes some time to accept it, to get past denial into acceptance and moving on. Totally normal." Just like him to take it all in stride! I felt bowled over by my emotional wave of self discovery, relating my afternoon moment of zen with tears in my eyes and a tinge of embarrassed pink in my cheeks but the hubster cradled me with his words as if he'd been waiting for me to tell him this for weeks... Anyways.
For a long time I have (unconsciously and consciously) berated myself for being sick, for not "sucking it up" and making due, for not "fixing it" and moving on. I thought that because I didn't suffer birth trauma I had no excuse to be feeling down, completely neglecting to recognize the trauma of postpartum depression, multiple hospitilzations, intensive ECT treatment, a suicide attempt, and countless other disruptions to my life. Those are traumas. These things count. I've been through some shit! I'm still in recovery and that's totally understandable because what happened to me was significant, it's gonna take some time to work through and work past.
I feel like a lot of this is stating the obvious and repeating things that I've wrote about in past posts but for me this things feel fresh and there is something novel and important about acknowledging these thoughts and feelings that came over me so randomly this afternoon. It's not all news to me but the feelings of acceptance, soothing, and understanding that came with this moment of realization have given me a new perspective on my life, a new abililty to be kind and gentle with myself, to validate myself, to better support myself in recovery and those are all very important things.
I'm sad as I acknowledge what I've been through and more fully appreciate the anguish of these dark times but I also feel a swell of glowing gratitude and feist as I appreciate the progress I've made on this journey and feel a little piece of me start to believe that I can make it back to where I want to be, that I can do this crazy thing called life, that I do have it in me... I'm not a weakling, a hot mess, or a lost cause. I'm a fighter.
* This was big doins. BB and I went to the gym and gave Daddy time alone at home! First time in a long time that I've been out alone with the babe. Progress!
Thursday, June 23, 2016
Good For Me
Today was the third day in a row that I attended a group exercise class at our gym. The past several weeks I've been going to the gym pretty regularly and working out on the treadmill and doing some stretches or a few ab exercises but the group exercise classes are a much bigger challenge and more out of my comfort zone.
It feels good to have sore muscles and feel a sense of accomplishment but I think it feels even better because the instructors have been so supportive. I didn't expect to have them speak to me personally or give me a big ole high five for coming back to class a second time (that happened this morning) or give me a compliments on my form and effort-it's really made an impact and encouraged me to keep getting to class, sore muscles or no!
Unfortunately we're coming up on the annual resurfacing of the big workout room so I'll have a week and a half without classes from next week til after The Fourth. It kinda sucks because I'm just breaking into the regimen and I don't want to lose my momentum but a couple of ladies from the classes mentioned going to some other branches of the gym and hitting up those classes to tide ourselves over and I think I might just do that. Little intimidating going some place entirely new and unfamiliar, but I think I've got the oomph to venture forth and try something new :o)
There are lots of chores around the house that I haven't got to but I have been doing pretty well keeping up with laundry and dishes and I feel good about that. I'm so hard on myself for not doing everything I can think of... it's really sad. I have to just dismiss the mean thoughts and focus on giving myself props for what I do achieve and recognize how far I've come over the past couple months. Things aren't all sorted out by any means but I'm doing a lot better than I was and that is certainly worth something.
It's tough for me to feel pride, to be grateful, to think well of myself, but I'm trying. It feels a little strange but sometimes a positive outlook coalesces in my brain and I think to myself just maybe I'll be able to alter my negative patterns and figure out how healthy and happy works... just maybe I can embrace "liveable" instead of misery. Sure is tough remembering to take things one moment at a time and let the changes build over time when I'd rather just flip a switch!
One thing at a time :o)
It feels good to have sore muscles and feel a sense of accomplishment but I think it feels even better because the instructors have been so supportive. I didn't expect to have them speak to me personally or give me a big ole high five for coming back to class a second time (that happened this morning) or give me a compliments on my form and effort-it's really made an impact and encouraged me to keep getting to class, sore muscles or no!
Unfortunately we're coming up on the annual resurfacing of the big workout room so I'll have a week and a half without classes from next week til after The Fourth. It kinda sucks because I'm just breaking into the regimen and I don't want to lose my momentum but a couple of ladies from the classes mentioned going to some other branches of the gym and hitting up those classes to tide ourselves over and I think I might just do that. Little intimidating going some place entirely new and unfamiliar, but I think I've got the oomph to venture forth and try something new :o)
There are lots of chores around the house that I haven't got to but I have been doing pretty well keeping up with laundry and dishes and I feel good about that. I'm so hard on myself for not doing everything I can think of... it's really sad. I have to just dismiss the mean thoughts and focus on giving myself props for what I do achieve and recognize how far I've come over the past couple months. Things aren't all sorted out by any means but I'm doing a lot better than I was and that is certainly worth something.
It's tough for me to feel pride, to be grateful, to think well of myself, but I'm trying. It feels a little strange but sometimes a positive outlook coalesces in my brain and I think to myself just maybe I'll be able to alter my negative patterns and figure out how healthy and happy works... just maybe I can embrace "liveable" instead of misery. Sure is tough remembering to take things one moment at a time and let the changes build over time when I'd rather just flip a switch!
One thing at a time :o)
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
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
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!
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!
Thursday, April 7, 2016
F is for F-bombs #atozchallenge
This post is part of my first year doing the A to Z Challenge and I happen to be writing under the theme Gratitude: The Things That Keep Me Alive. This is a relevant theme for me as I am struggling with postpartum depression, and also have diagnosed anxiety and bipolar II (just to let you know what's going on with me-it might be pertinent as you read the post below). Thank you for stopping by and reading my post!
F is for F-bombs because, *sigh*, I sure love dropping a F-bomb every now and again (okay, probably WAY more often than I'd admit but, hey, I'm a work in progress). It's like one-second therapy or an anti-anxiety pill that works in a snap, it's just so fuckin' nice to just say fuck sometimes.
It's even a little more complex than I initially thought; as I was writing this post I realized that fuckin' things (verbally that is) is therapeutic for me because it helps externalize things and validate my feelings instead of me blaming myself or muting my complaints, biting my tongue, or basically telling myself I'm not worthwhile enough to have a valid complaint or feeling.
I have a tendency to hold things in because I have low self esteem/family culture/however you wanna explain it and don't consider my feelings valid or worthwhile. Maybe it's juvenile, but "fuck" helps me work towards validating my feelings and honoring myself and my experience, and that's fuckin' important! I hope that someday I will be able to use "big girl" words to describe my experience, but at the moment, just saying fuck and acknowledging a feeling is there is a step in a good direction.
My husband has made it clear that I need to work on my potty mouth now that we have a son and I'm trying to frick instead of fuck but it's damn hard. Shit. Well, obviously I have a ways to go as far as cursing goes, but I may very well always love my F-bombs :o)
Friday, April 1, 2016
A is for Attempt #atozchallenge
This post is part of my first year doing the A to Z Challenge and I happen to be writing under the theme Gratitude: The Things That Keep Me Alive. This is a relevant theme for me as I am struggling with postpartum depression, and also have diagnosed anxiety and bipolar II (just to let you know what's going on with me-it might be pertinent as you read the post below). Thank you for stopping by and reading my post!
A is for Attempt because I'm grateful for the hubs attempting to help me get better, me attempting to get better, me attempting to do this "A to Z Challenge," and every adorable attempt Bubba makes as he learns new things.
"Attempt" is important. "Attempt" is something that I have struggled with for a very long time and am attempting to improve.
For a very long time I have seen life as pass/fail. Do or don't. I have unconsciously/consciously believed that I couldn't enjoy relaxation or frivolous or joyous things until I had earned them or had "passed" completely. I haven't let myself try to learn or improve skills that I am not already competent at because of this uncomfortable feeling around "Attempt."
As the hubster pointed out to me so skillfully one day a couple weeks ago, this is a prime example of how I suffer from my chronic depressive logic. I found myself wanting to go on a mini-vacay with the hubs but struggling with my ideas of a pass/fail life-
"I recognize that we are exhausted and overworked and that we need a break and that we don't have to have everything sorted out and perfect before we take a break, that it isn't something we earn, that it's something we have the right to...but I also feel like my life is such a mess right now that I'm not allowed to pick up and leave in the middle of sorting things out! I gotta fix it all first!"
It takes a lot of deep breaths to calm me down when I discuss "Attempt" like this! But when I do calm down, I can see that all of life is one big attempt. We are constantly works in progress or trying something new and I need to get comfortable with the idea of being incomplete. Life isn't graded-I won't be an A,B,C,D, or F by the end or at any point, I will forever be incomplete, like everyone else. I will forever be attempting and continuing to "Attempt" is sure helping keep me alive!
*sigh* Feels like I'm getting something off my chest here! Guess I'm grateful for that too ;)
Thursday, January 28, 2016
Memories
Tonight was my aunt's memorial. It is remarkable how surreal it felt despite the many years I've been preparing for her departure. Knowing she would leave us prematurely didn't prepare me for being in her home, being surrounded by family and friends and memories but no aunt.
Being fresh out of the hospital myself I was feeling pretty raw. It's not typical in my family to be blubbery but I couldn't help it and thankfully I wasn't alone; my cousin, uncle, and mom were all emotional too. Good riddance. I am glad we could all appreciate the impact my aunt had in our lives, I'm glad it wasn't minimized. That happens a bit too much in my family.
Somehow the memorial brought up a lot of emotions regarding my hospitalization and depression, my frustrations surrounding being sick and struggling in my own life; feelings of shame and concern about getting my life in order and being there for my husband and son and family. Somehow the horror of my depression, the potential of my suicide, was only revealed in the shadow of my aunt's death and weighed upon me this evening.
The hubs reassured me that I'm doing all the right things; ECT, therapy, medication, hospitalization, we're looking into NAMI support groups, childcare. It's a bit overwhelming, I feel like I'm a bit outmatched but I also see his point, I can only do so much at a time, all the right things still take time to fall into place.
In the mean time, I must be kind and gentle with myself. I'm still in the midst of intensive ECT treatment and adjusting to life outside the hospital again... Life's twists and turns, I tell ya.
Being fresh out of the hospital myself I was feeling pretty raw. It's not typical in my family to be blubbery but I couldn't help it and thankfully I wasn't alone; my cousin, uncle, and mom were all emotional too. Good riddance. I am glad we could all appreciate the impact my aunt had in our lives, I'm glad it wasn't minimized. That happens a bit too much in my family.
Somehow the memorial brought up a lot of emotions regarding my hospitalization and depression, my frustrations surrounding being sick and struggling in my own life; feelings of shame and concern about getting my life in order and being there for my husband and son and family. Somehow the horror of my depression, the potential of my suicide, was only revealed in the shadow of my aunt's death and weighed upon me this evening.
The hubs reassured me that I'm doing all the right things; ECT, therapy, medication, hospitalization, we're looking into NAMI support groups, childcare. It's a bit overwhelming, I feel like I'm a bit outmatched but I also see his point, I can only do so much at a time, all the right things still take time to fall into place.
In the mean time, I must be kind and gentle with myself. I'm still in the midst of intensive ECT treatment and adjusting to life outside the hospital again... Life's twists and turns, I tell ya.
Sunday, November 29, 2015
I believe in laxatives, not miracles
Yes. It has happened. I pooped! and it wasn't the horrible experience that last week's BM was either (bonus). I think not quite going an entire week between movements paid dividends.
I took a "gentle, overnight laxative" last night before realizing it wasn't simply stool softener (not supposed to use laxatives while breastfeeding apparently) and it was just that; gentle, overnight, a couple gravely rumbles but not gut wrenching cramps and then this morning: voila!
Praise aside, I don't want to use it again if I can help it. Baby Bananaface hasn't erupted yet but I'd rather avoid the possibility and I prefer to take care of things with diet, fiber supplementation, and exercise... but I am relieved and pleased.
The war is still on and I will be regular again *angrily shakes fist* The hubs and I are considering my constipation a top priority since if affects so many other things, possibly my mood the most. We think it was the anti-nausea meds (we hope) otherwise we get to figure out which psychiatric script it is and that could be a pain in the... well, you know.
Typing of, my mood has been a weird up and down combo. I've felt overstimulated and "up" and had difficulty sleeping but also feel a bit sad going into the holidays with family stress. I'm coming to a point where I'm ready to focus on sticking in the now as much as possible and letting go of things instead of trying to grapple with every emotional wave and conquer it completely. A tall order for me, but I'm weary.
Today we head to the mall to foist our snotty child on a stranger who resembles Santa for some *hopefully* cute pictures. This is not a tradition in either of our families but I didn't want to regret not having a picture of BB's first Christmas picture with Santa, so we are playing it safe. We'll see how it goes!
Oh, and I'm feeling just about 100% better physically after my second bout of flu, just dealing with a runny nose. *knocks on wood*
Our couple's quote for the day:
The hubs chuckled this morning: "We don't have a Bible in this house, we have a dictionary in this house."
And I happily chirped: "Amen!"
Not entirely sure how poop and faith got mixed up in this post, but there ya have it. ;)
I took a "gentle, overnight laxative" last night before realizing it wasn't simply stool softener (not supposed to use laxatives while breastfeeding apparently) and it was just that; gentle, overnight, a couple gravely rumbles but not gut wrenching cramps and then this morning: voila!
Praise aside, I don't want to use it again if I can help it. Baby Bananaface hasn't erupted yet but I'd rather avoid the possibility and I prefer to take care of things with diet, fiber supplementation, and exercise... but I am relieved and pleased.
The war is still on and I will be regular again *angrily shakes fist* The hubs and I are considering my constipation a top priority since if affects so many other things, possibly my mood the most. We think it was the anti-nausea meds (we hope) otherwise we get to figure out which psychiatric script it is and that could be a pain in the... well, you know.
Typing of, my mood has been a weird up and down combo. I've felt overstimulated and "up" and had difficulty sleeping but also feel a bit sad going into the holidays with family stress. I'm coming to a point where I'm ready to focus on sticking in the now as much as possible and letting go of things instead of trying to grapple with every emotional wave and conquer it completely. A tall order for me, but I'm weary.
Today we head to the mall to foist our snotty child on a stranger who resembles Santa for some *hopefully* cute pictures. This is not a tradition in either of our families but I didn't want to regret not having a picture of BB's first Christmas picture with Santa, so we are playing it safe. We'll see how it goes!
Oh, and I'm feeling just about 100% better physically after my second bout of flu, just dealing with a runny nose. *knocks on wood*
Our couple's quote for the day:
The hubs chuckled this morning: "We don't have a Bible in this house, we have a dictionary in this house."
And I happily chirped: "Amen!"
Not entirely sure how poop and faith got mixed up in this post, but there ya have it. ;)
Tuesday, November 17, 2015
What now? Just be.
The lights are flickering in my house and the menu music is looping on my The Golden Girls DVD as I write this. Occasional gusts from our storm system are hurtling somethings onto the roof. I had thought it was just pine cones but my goodness, there better be at least a good chunk of branch up there to justify my dog's barking and the rumbles!
I am still weak and occasionally nauseated, most certainly watching what I am eating but I am feeling well enough for the familiar pressure to "do more" to reenter my mental sphere. I hate that internal whisper, that state of unease that follows me everywhere, the pressure to do something, anything because just me, just being isn't enough.
That's the old school view anyway. The old programming. I had to "do" to be "enough," I had to achieve to earn love, but nowadays that doesn't earn me anything but blacker days. Nowadays it just earns gentle reminders from my husband, "Why don't you take a break? Want to do your coloring book? When did you last eat?" Nowadays are new days but I haven't acclimated yet.
It's like when I step off the plane in Hawaii or Vegas, the heat finding every space of my body like an overly thorough frisking. It makes me angry. It pisses me off. Why should I feel this uncomfortable? A little part of me knows that the sensation will fade with time but the bigger part of me balks at anything so invasive and offensive.
Kindness is new and offensive. Stillness. Calm. Patience and caring. These things are things that I have little tolerance for and need to become acclimated to.
Now for baby pics as I'm wishing I were the momma I know I can be and not an exhausted slump of "why me?" and feel "reminisce-y." Enjoy :)
I am still weak and occasionally nauseated, most certainly watching what I am eating but I am feeling well enough for the familiar pressure to "do more" to reenter my mental sphere. I hate that internal whisper, that state of unease that follows me everywhere, the pressure to do something, anything because just me, just being isn't enough.
That's the old school view anyway. The old programming. I had to "do" to be "enough," I had to achieve to earn love, but nowadays that doesn't earn me anything but blacker days. Nowadays it just earns gentle reminders from my husband, "Why don't you take a break? Want to do your coloring book? When did you last eat?" Nowadays are new days but I haven't acclimated yet.
It's like when I step off the plane in Hawaii or Vegas, the heat finding every space of my body like an overly thorough frisking. It makes me angry. It pisses me off. Why should I feel this uncomfortable? A little part of me knows that the sensation will fade with time but the bigger part of me balks at anything so invasive and offensive.
Kindness is new and offensive. Stillness. Calm. Patience and caring. These things are things that I have little tolerance for and need to become acclimated to.
Now for baby pics as I'm wishing I were the momma I know I can be and not an exhausted slump of "why me?" and feel "reminisce-y." Enjoy :)
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| Throwback: 1st shopping cart ride ever happened to be at Costco so he looks normal baby-sized! He was people watching, as usual :) |
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| The boys. Wow does Baby Bananaface do "trucker" well! The hubs does "haggard programmer" well cuz, well, that's what he is. |
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| "Reading" I love watching him assault his books! This was a rare, peaceful moment. |
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| Just. Cool. See Hubster's cool Star Trek socks? My sexy pink stripes are off to the left. Costco hiking socks for the cozy win. |
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| Getting closer to walking everyday, not show here, but he stands and balances without aid quit a bit now! |
Monday, August 31, 2015
Farewells, A Letter
A slightly different Monday Missive today...
I sit here in my corner room. The room that I was shocked and scared to find myself in a little over a week ago. Tonight the room isn't a bare-walled holding pen with locked cabinets but my room. The scuffs on the wall, the sticky patches on the floor are familiar. The sounds of my slippers wresting from the adhesive effect and clapping back down on the linoleum my own personal theme song. The simple room calms and comforts me. I am safe here now.
My name on the whiteboard seemed so securely emblazoned and yet I know it will be easily whisked away from its compatriots. I feel tears of joy and sadness welling up as I think of leaving my friends behind. I am so grateful for their companionship, their insight, their understanding and support. I wish that I could ease their pains, accelerate their journey, somehow make my graduation our graduation so that we may all leave together.
But our paths part here and while I am sad to go I am hopeful for all of us. I have seen such beautiful things among all our darkest feelings and most tragic memories. We have shared such tender moments, reaching out to help each other despite our own immense burdens. That is something remarkable. Not every unit will experience such grace or kindness on any given day, let alone for as many days as we have shared and I commend those special souls for contributing to such a marvelous healing atmosphere.
Somehow we have created a magical equation where immense sadness plus more sadness equals hope. Part of that has been the wonderful relationship and supportive peer community we have forged and another large part is the amazing staff here at 2 East. All the hard work they have poured into this program and all the care they take in coaxing wellness back into our lives is as sneakily effective as it is beautiful. This culture of caring is not universal and it is not a fluke. Well done. I never thought that having my vitals taken would become therapeutic!
I leave with a lighter heart, a good dose of fear, and a rekindled sense of hope but I also leave with tears in my eyes and a deep, deep gratitude for all those that have helped me on my path to recovery. From fleeting smiles to life affirming and life altering conversations, I have experienced a level of respect, care, and consideration that I had never conceived of before.
To my special friends and the staff of 2 East, thank you. Thank you and best of luck. I must give myself credit for hanging in with the program and letting the magic happen but I also appreciate the special effect that such a wonderful group of people added to this experience. Not every unit can do what we did here. I may have been able to recover at some other unit with some other people, but I know that I would not have felt as good as quickly if it had not been for all of you.
Keep on fighting the good fight.
Be well,
Hannah
Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Day 5 - Tuesday "on the inside"
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| "Homestyle" potatoes and "apple & chicken" sausage were mistakes I shall not repeat. |
Today started out well enough. In fact a little too well. I know that I got the best night's sleep I've had in months (thank you Ativan) but I was a bit too chipper... My suspicion was spot on and while I felt very "up" this morning, I felt "down" this afternoon and have been navigating on again, off again anxiety and feeling weepy. Groups were good but tough as usual, bringing up feeling and issues that I haven't resolved.
On major issue coming up for me is the anger and pain at having put myself last for so long. I took the selfie below the morning I was admitted, before the doctor's appointment. I was trying to look happy enough to send a "cheer you up" support pic to my mother-in-law during her trip to visit her other kids in CA. I just couldn't fake it any harder. I didn't send it.
And end up here.
I know there is more at hand. Bipolar is a legitimate illness but I feel like it would be a lot easier to handle without the horrible self esteem and boundary issues that I have. I guess the good thing is that I can work on those things. I can't get rid of my illness, I can treat it, but I can work toward improving my personal landscape so that coping with a chronic illness become more manageable.
Something like that.... I'm feeling a little muddled at the moment. :)
A couple of my peeps on the unit are leaving tomorrow and it is upsetting for me. Right now I feel afraid of being discharged. I'm afraid of going home and just backsliding to where I was and I don't want that. I'm afraid of being left to handle B.B. and the house and feeding myself and self-care... It just feels impossible.
The psychiatrist here said the goal is to have me ready to go by Friday but that's always flexible so just try to keep focused on today and not think ahead, like I've been trying to do.
More artwork today... I Googled "hart deer" and rather liked this image though I am not certain of the species.
It looked rather delicate and was a lovely white/cream color... just felt like how I feel.
Our "healthy boundaries" class today brought up a lot for me. I'm torn between confronting my family (especially my mother) and trying to set boundaries with how I'm treated and how the way they treat me makes me invalidated and unseen versus simply divorcing myself from expectation of change in them and trying to move on with a new set of expectations. I'm still torn... but I know that it's important for me to figure this out and get going with some progress in that department.
Spent time on the patio again and enjoyed myself. Thinking tonight I will jump for the Ativan again to help me sleep, although I am getting my other meds upped so we'll see... I don't like going hogwild with meds!
Baby Bananaface and the hubs are coming in a couple hours. I'm hoping that I feel a bit more "synced" with B.B. this visit but we'll have to see... Time for afternoon group!
Back at it ...
Monday, August 3, 2015
Monday Missive #4
Dear Amanda,
I still think of you sometimes. We have not seen each other or spoken for 8 years now but you still cross my mind. I wonder where you are, what you do, if you are happier or if you are even more sad than you were when I knew you.
I wonder if you still harbor all that anger and hate. You were so angry when I knew you, not just toward me, toward everything and yourself. So much anger that it was eating you alive.
We were friends before we were enemies and I fondly remember those times, that connection we had despite all the differences between us, our mutual thirst for knowledge and dark senses of humor, a shared love for all things "outdated."
That said, I remember the bad times just as clearly and they still haunt me. I still experience a cold, sinking feeling whenever I recall the horrible things you said to me and I still feel the fear.
I used to think it was my fault and I regretted not fixing things between us. I don't believe that anymore. Time has blessed me with improved perspective and I realize now that while I may not be faultless in our falling out, I was surely not the mastermind. Maybe not purely victim, but more so than I was able to see at the time.
Your anger and hate was/is not my fault, certainly not my burden to carry or my problem to solve. It has always been yours and all those years ago it boiled over and burned me. I don't deserve to bear these feelings of guilt and shame for a pain that was inflicted upon me. I'm sure that I hurt you in some way but I never wished you harm or threatened you, I can't imagine that I gave you years' worth of nightmares and anxiety as you did to me.
I realize now that that mess was yours and I was much too quick in heaping blame upon myself. I forgive you. I regret letting these things bother me so much for so long but I am glad to be working through it now and I hope this is a good start toward getting this weight off my soul.
I was not and am not the cruel bitch or manipulative whore or other horrible things that you called me. I was simply caught in the crossfire, confused and vulnerable while I struggled with my own adolescent issues. You preyed on me then and left this venom in me, but now I feel that I'm finally getting around to sucking that venom out.
You won't hurt me anymore.
I wish for you a brighter future than those dark days of your past.
Be well, well away from me,
Hannah
I still think of you sometimes. We have not seen each other or spoken for 8 years now but you still cross my mind. I wonder where you are, what you do, if you are happier or if you are even more sad than you were when I knew you.
I wonder if you still harbor all that anger and hate. You were so angry when I knew you, not just toward me, toward everything and yourself. So much anger that it was eating you alive.
We were friends before we were enemies and I fondly remember those times, that connection we had despite all the differences between us, our mutual thirst for knowledge and dark senses of humor, a shared love for all things "outdated."
That said, I remember the bad times just as clearly and they still haunt me. I still experience a cold, sinking feeling whenever I recall the horrible things you said to me and I still feel the fear.
I used to think it was my fault and I regretted not fixing things between us. I don't believe that anymore. Time has blessed me with improved perspective and I realize now that while I may not be faultless in our falling out, I was surely not the mastermind. Maybe not purely victim, but more so than I was able to see at the time.
Your anger and hate was/is not my fault, certainly not my burden to carry or my problem to solve. It has always been yours and all those years ago it boiled over and burned me. I don't deserve to bear these feelings of guilt and shame for a pain that was inflicted upon me. I'm sure that I hurt you in some way but I never wished you harm or threatened you, I can't imagine that I gave you years' worth of nightmares and anxiety as you did to me.
I realize now that that mess was yours and I was much too quick in heaping blame upon myself. I forgive you. I regret letting these things bother me so much for so long but I am glad to be working through it now and I hope this is a good start toward getting this weight off my soul.
I was not and am not the cruel bitch or manipulative whore or other horrible things that you called me. I was simply caught in the crossfire, confused and vulnerable while I struggled with my own adolescent issues. You preyed on me then and left this venom in me, but now I feel that I'm finally getting around to sucking that venom out.
You won't hurt me anymore.
I wish for you a brighter future than those dark days of your past.
Be well, well away from me,
Hannah
Monday, July 27, 2015
Monday Missive #3
Dear Hubbo,
I know that lately things have been harder than usual for us. Trying to take care of the baby and take care of ourselves as well has been whooping our butts sometimes.
I'm sorry that my struggles have hijacked so much energy and resources. I know that I'm not the only one adjusting, but I get overly focused on my own short comings and struggles, often overlooking the challenges you might have or the stress in your life. I'm sorry.
I'm so happy for you that you are looking into getting your degree finished and even got accepted at the uni that you want, it's awesome. I know I harp on your for dragging you feet on certain things, but you are impressing me with your go-get-it-ness about your degree :)
That said, I'm worried. It's not that I'm not on board, I totally am, I'm just worried about keeping my shit together. I know it's not all about me, but I know how much I can drag the family down when I'm not well. You seem to have a certain faith that everything will work out and I trust in your captainship, it's just hard for me to internalize.
I think you were totally spot on when you made that observation about how I might resent you for being more functional than me. It's not fun being the anchor. Not a grounded, "good" anchor, a "drag us down" anchor. I am working up to handling what"s on my plate now and here you are reaching for more challenge! I'm definitely a bit envious, especially when you get to do school. Ya know I love school!
Thankfully, it's that subconscious, filmy type of feeling that on one level is true but on many others is just a flare of human ego, all emotion without any conscious truth behind it. I don't hate you, I don't wish you wouldn't do this, I'm glad for you and proud of you and excited for the potential this brings to our future together. Thank you for helping me work through these feelings and know that I will try my best to help you (mainly by trying to keep myself together as best as possible).
I think you were totally spot on when you made that observation about how I might resent you for being more functional than me. It's not fun being the anchor. Not a grounded, "good" anchor, a "drag us down" anchor. I am working up to handling what"s on my plate now and here you are reaching for more challenge! I'm definitely a bit envious, especially when you get to do school. Ya know I love school!
Thankfully, it's that subconscious, filmy type of feeling that on one level is true but on many others is just a flare of human ego, all emotion without any conscious truth behind it. I don't hate you, I don't wish you wouldn't do this, I'm glad for you and proud of you and excited for the potential this brings to our future together. Thank you for helping me work through these feelings and know that I will try my best to help you (mainly by trying to keep myself together as best as possible).
I know we will get a babysitter arranged for extra help before you begin classes and I know that you have faith in me. I will try my best not to freak out any more than I already am and support you :)
Very happy for you and happily yours,
Hannah
Very happy for you and happily yours,
Hannah
Thursday, June 18, 2015
Little Engine That Could
I only vaguely remember the children's story "The Little Engine That Could" because that memory was overwritten by the memory of Damon Wayan's retelling of it in "Major Payne" many years ago. While my images of rosy cheeked train engines remain they are reliably interrupted by images of warfare of and "Bubba, ya ain't got no legs!" Not terrible, it always makes me giggle in a sick way, but there it is.
Today was a "just keep chuggin'" kinda day.
Last night I had a hard time sleeping and while I started to get anxious worrying about how the following day would go because of the lack of sleep, I let it go and did the best I could. I did manage to get the baby back into his bassinet instead of hogging my side of the bed and once the hubbo went to work there was enough room to sleep/nurse for the early morning BUT the babe peed a TON and wet through his diaper, two layers of clothes, and onto our sheet and foam topper. I don't think it went further than that, but it was quite the surprise for me this morning.
I felt myself getting overwhelmed and upset, I already had a lot of laundry to work through with a half-sized laundry machine, but I accepted it, decided to just do what I could and stop worrying. I just chugged along doing this and that and making my way through my day as best I could and it worked. I'm not an image of relaxation but I ain't bottoming out, so I think that's pretty swell.
Still feeling tense, hoping to get out for a walk soon. The hubster and I have been pretty housebound since Monday with our free time going to quick, emergency shopping trips or errands at the old apartment. We still have some stuff there to move and the cats to take care of... Not looking forward to taking them to the shelter but I think it's best for all and that we'll feel better in the long run.
Iroh is such a fabulous cat. Even though we moved out and it's been so stressful he's still his chipper, old self. Whereas Millie has already got the wide-eyed, "who are you, foul creature?" look to her. The sad feelings will pass. I know it's a lot easier not having litter boxes and extra mouths to feed and water, just these past few days without the cats at the condo have been great-and no Iroh hair fluffs all over the carpet!
Baby is doing well. More easily distracted during feedings and we're struggling to buckle down and commit to a schedule (I'm terrible at establishing a schedule unless it's tied to TV programming) but he's learning to sleep in his crib and I think we're slowing transitioning to something of a new normal, just don't know what'll be like exactly yet.
Speaking of TV programming, I haven't had the TV and big computers here all week and it's been pretty nice. I'm hoping that I have the willpower to keep the electronics off once they are moved over and hooked up. The quiet "life noise" is more soothing than TV series I obsessively plow through or songs with lyrics I try to decode, all in all more work for my brain that I don't need and that stresses me out if even on a very small level.
That said I've still watched a few Price is Rights on the lappy and a "Comedian in Cars Getting Coffee." I ain't going total techphobic!
Well, time to wash the baby's tummy time mat. It's practically a slice of cheese now with all the spit ups he's managed to smear into it.
Also, a little note: Feel better Birdie :) but don't feel bad about feeling bad, math is a cruel nemesis for many of us and in my experience, very adept at poking and deflating a mood balloon when one is feeling vulnerable! Math + Math = #(*&^*!(!*(#$% squared or whatever. Hang in there, I hope you find your light again soon :)
Today was a "just keep chuggin'" kinda day.
Last night I had a hard time sleeping and while I started to get anxious worrying about how the following day would go because of the lack of sleep, I let it go and did the best I could. I did manage to get the baby back into his bassinet instead of hogging my side of the bed and once the hubbo went to work there was enough room to sleep/nurse for the early morning BUT the babe peed a TON and wet through his diaper, two layers of clothes, and onto our sheet and foam topper. I don't think it went further than that, but it was quite the surprise for me this morning.
I felt myself getting overwhelmed and upset, I already had a lot of laundry to work through with a half-sized laundry machine, but I accepted it, decided to just do what I could and stop worrying. I just chugged along doing this and that and making my way through my day as best I could and it worked. I'm not an image of relaxation but I ain't bottoming out, so I think that's pretty swell.
Still feeling tense, hoping to get out for a walk soon. The hubster and I have been pretty housebound since Monday with our free time going to quick, emergency shopping trips or errands at the old apartment. We still have some stuff there to move and the cats to take care of... Not looking forward to taking them to the shelter but I think it's best for all and that we'll feel better in the long run.
Iroh is such a fabulous cat. Even though we moved out and it's been so stressful he's still his chipper, old self. Whereas Millie has already got the wide-eyed, "who are you, foul creature?" look to her. The sad feelings will pass. I know it's a lot easier not having litter boxes and extra mouths to feed and water, just these past few days without the cats at the condo have been great-and no Iroh hair fluffs all over the carpet!
Baby is doing well. More easily distracted during feedings and we're struggling to buckle down and commit to a schedule (I'm terrible at establishing a schedule unless it's tied to TV programming) but he's learning to sleep in his crib and I think we're slowing transitioning to something of a new normal, just don't know what'll be like exactly yet.
Speaking of TV programming, I haven't had the TV and big computers here all week and it's been pretty nice. I'm hoping that I have the willpower to keep the electronics off once they are moved over and hooked up. The quiet "life noise" is more soothing than TV series I obsessively plow through or songs with lyrics I try to decode, all in all more work for my brain that I don't need and that stresses me out if even on a very small level.
That said I've still watched a few Price is Rights on the lappy and a "Comedian in Cars Getting Coffee." I ain't going total techphobic!
Well, time to wash the baby's tummy time mat. It's practically a slice of cheese now with all the spit ups he's managed to smear into it.
Also, a little note: Feel better Birdie :) but don't feel bad about feeling bad, math is a cruel nemesis for many of us and in my experience, very adept at poking and deflating a mood balloon when one is feeling vulnerable! Math + Math = #(*&^*!(!*(#$% squared or whatever. Hang in there, I hope you find your light again soon :)
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