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)

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!

St. Patrick's Day

I have been festive today. Why? I have no idea. I suppose it's because, "Why the hell not?" 

The hubs asked what shirt he should wear and I promptly said, "The green one." The kiddo has green on and back-up green in his to-go bag. I was even making comments about his Irish ancestry and his festive green boogers (holy cow they were really, really sticky this morning). 

I leave a comment on a blog, I tack on "Happy St. Patty's." Not every time, but often enough.

On the flipside, I was pissed off this morning A) because I didn't want to get outta bed one lick and B) because I have a horrendous pimple near my lip line that hurts like hell. I cussed a lot, we dubbed it the "St. Patrick's Day Pimplecre" and I made a bad herpes joke that the hubs took seriously and then we had to have a discussion and now I'm Googling how exactly one might get herpes and the whole cold sore thing... Good grief.

So THAT'S how my St. Patrick's Day is going. A little all over the board.

In other news, yesterday got quite dark for me and then things got better at DBT group. It was quite confusing to be jerked around by my emotions so much... Before class I told the hubs "If this doesn't work, that's it" implying that I would kill myself this fall if I'm not feeling better by then and then after class we were joking and loving and talking about the future, it was wonderful. Just confusing.

I really don't feel like my medications do much for me but the hubbo reminded me that it hasn't been all that long since I've been on this new one and that I gotta give it a chance... so I'll hurry up and wait. Grr.

ANYWAYS. Have some goals of doing some laundry and vacuuming without stubbing any toes today and eating lunch, all of which are going to be more challenging than expected (already proving as such).

Fair thee well blog reader...

and Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Status Update

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

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

I swear, I did not drug his Cheerios!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Day 2-Saturday "on the inside"

Last night and today have gone pretty well. I got to sleep *YESSSSSS* but getting up to pump was a bit obnoxious. I'm still getting used to the schedule here. It's a bit.... rigorous? There's always something around the corner and it can be exhausting as I hate to miss anything!

The food is pretty good. I met a nice lentil soup today at lunch though I did not enjoy my chicken noodle at dinner. The chocolate cake for dinner's dessert was good and I really enjoyed the turkey sandwich and chips (one of my fav types) at lunch. We get an evening snack at 8:00 PM which was definitely called for last night. I guess it's a good sign that I have more appetite and feel so hungry now, though it is somewhat shocking after going so long with next to no interest in food.

I'm really into my fruit cups but don't eat the honeydew.... I hope I have one coming for evening snack but I can't remember what I put on my menu. It's funny, I fill these things out and then forget and then my meal is like a surprise but exactly what I want! D'oh. 

Anyways.... Today I managed to get to all the groups and get my pumping done and the hubs and B.B. came to visit and I got to nurse and cuddle and stuff (way exhausting but good). I had made him a card at group with watercolors and he really liked it, "The most beautiful card I've ever received" he said. I'm not sure about that but I enjoyed making it for him. 

I randomly decided to paint a seahorse and looked up a picture on my phone, I would've liked to have gone into more detail but didn't have a good pencil or good ink/marker. But hey, it was fun and I like it regardless :) Afterward I realized that seahorse daddies bear the kidlets and that the hub's is taking over with the baby right now so it was sort of symbolic in that way... didn't put that together until after though. Silly brain.

Had some anxiety flare up today (during our relaxation exercise oddly enough) rode it out for a while but ended up taking some meds for it. Got my first round of Seroquel last night, 25, going to be moving it up throughout the week. So far it has been okay, just felt sleepy and maybe a little more relaxed but as I said still anxious here and there. Some tears today and yesterday but I haven't been bawling and the release is good.

So far everything is OK with breastfeeding which calms me. I've been pumping and popping the bags into the freezer (am I the only one that misread that as "pumping and pooping?"), and since the hubs said we were down to 3 or 4 bags at home I guess it's good I'm staying hard at work here! Must make sure I don't run out of bags!

Whew. 

Tired. Better in some ways. Still hurting. Working on it. 

Ordering jello again tomorow.  Orange is my preference :)

Now to group....

Oh Jolly, One Good Day Before Back to Bad...

Wanted to go to the hospital Friday. Wanted to be in a room that wasn't my own, no laundry, no dishes, no packing, no obligations just me and Baby doing our thing. Unfortunately my bare bones existence consists of tons of supplements, struggling to consume enough nutritious foods, runaway thoughts, anxiety, all over tension, and now even castor oil packs to try and reduce the inflammation of my perpetually plugged duct-not exactly a prime situation for rest and relaxation.

I've never been to the hospital for my mental illness, I imagine it might be more frustrating and complicated than helpful in many ways, yet it remains a hazy last resort I cling to. Deep down I know it's not the respite I need, so I keep at arm's length to protect the possibility, protect the illusion of a safety net.

In reality, it's all on me. The only help to be offered would be drugs pushed down my gullet-and I can't go back to drugs. The side effects and lackluster results aside, the one thing I'm doing "right" is feeding my baby and going on meds may take that away from me. I don't know how I could handle losing the one thing I can do right at the moment. It's a scary proposition.

It all feels like too much to juggle. I can't cope unless things get better and things can't get better without me taking care of all my shit, yet I'm hobbled. No matter what the hubster may say, I don't see any help for me. He's barely keeping it together helping out more with the baby and coping with his work stress, not to mention handling most of the cooking and trying to force feed me. I'm not ill enough to be helped by a medical facility and I'm not well enough to help myself much. One alternative is to hope things get worse, another that they get marginally better so I can fix it myself.

Today is another shitty day. Started out well enough but has devolved to paralyzing tension, more scratching on my forearm, and some wrist banging. As much as I'm afraid of the self harm escalating I'm more afraid of my mood completely bottoming out and having to go on medication. I guess there isn't really an upside at the moment, just fear on top of fear with anxiety and self disgust for flavor.

Yesterday was good enough. Beginning to look like I can't string together good days though. At least my ongoing crazy dreams are entertaining.

Okay-I Screwed Up A Little

I haven't been disciplined in my tapering and (you guessed it) I rushed down to 0 and threw myself under the bus.

Today was so bad I tried popping an anti-nausea pill in addition to drinking tons of water and even that wouldn't settle my system.

So I popped 5 mg of Lexapro.

I have a tendency to beat myself up so I've been battling thoughts of, "you sissy, couldn't you just suck it up and get over this addiction to these meds?" and trying to replace them with nicer thoughts, "just take 5 mg for a week, let your body adjust and then taper some more next week-no biggie!"

With my history of self-abuse it's easy for me to fall back on blaming and belittling myself, but I need to remember that my body is trying to cope with a physical maelstrom and taking it slow isn't being selfish or babying myself, it's being kind and careful.

Yeah. I have a complex about being selfish and babying myself. I'm pretty sure I'm not alone on that one!

Tomorrow I'm going to take the 5 mg right off the bat and hope my system calms down a bit... I could handle bathroom breaks on the hour but this all day nausea is making me miserable! No wonder people give up on tapers!

Symptoms

In my last post I got a little off-track when I actually meant to talk about withdrawal symptoms.

I did mention the nausea haunting me all day off-and-on. It's the kind of stomach-sick that I feel when my vitamins might be starting to make me ill but with the sensation that vomiting won't resolve the situation.

When my vitamins make me sick (when I haven't drunk enough water or eaten beforehand) throwing everything up makes it better like that *snap* but this sort of nausea isn't easily resolved.

My appetite is sapped and I crave comfort foods but they don't help settle my stomach.

It just won't quit.

I've been trying to drink oodles of water and avoid anything too racy-even cut back my coffee intake.

Equally upsetting is the poo-factor. Happens to me every time I go on or off psychoactive drugs.

There is no real rule about how often people should be going #2-it varies from person to person and depends heavily on diet and individual metabolism. Traditionally, I'm a twice-a-week kinda gal and I don't begin to feel ill until it's been about a week to ten days between movements.

This is my life. The hubster is more of a twice-a-day kinda guy! But I digress...

Lately this has changed to three or more times a day. A DAY. Not pleasant.

All together my body feels like I'm being overtaken by flu although I will say that my energy level is up, not down!

Hopefully all these symptoms will wane in the next couple weeks and I'll be moving forward with different, more natural treatment.