Today is the Day

Today is the day when the hubs rescued me two years ago. The day I've been calling "my second 2nd birthday."

At the gym people often bring in treats for birthdays. Last night the hubster stood by me in the kitchen as I slowly integrated puffs of confectioner's sugar into a cream cheese icing for my gingerbread mini-cupcake. He asked, "Whose birthday is it?" and I kept quiet, staring into the whirling machine.

He doesn't like to talk about that day. It's understandable how traumatic it was for him! It did sting a little to realize that he had forgotten the anniversary though. I tried to get away with not telling him and in the end, whispered, "It's mine."

He breathed a heavy, "Ahh." Came toward me and pulled me into a hug as our eyes mutually drew tears. Distraught at the memories and then amazed to discover how long ago it felt. We are getting further and further from that day. No matter how messy the year behind went or the one ahead goes, any progress forward is a beautiful victory.

Tonight we get to have a dinner together. I've been struggling with anxiety and tears. Feeling lonely and struggling to reach out to friends that I see nearly everyday. I can speak about it all when asked. It's much more difficult to share out of the blue!


With the husbands' working situation fluctuations of late, we're in a month without insurance. A month when I really should've been in for ECT a week ago and are now having to schedule out for May. It is scary. I've been feeling "off" and weakened, hoping for ECT to help. For now, I'm trying to hang on and be satisfied with less. My schoolwork hasn't been going well.

Ahem.

Moving on. No need to rehash more of what haunts me right now.

Wish I could spend more time here, I really must make sure I eat enough and get enough water after such a work out this morning.

Hope to type again soon. <3 Gratitude, hugs, and love.

Honestly.

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

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

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

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

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

I was sick. I am sick. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tapped for now.

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

Bonus pic:

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

Back on the Inside

Friday I had another plan with a set date. The hubs was onto me and I confessed in a note, so he skipped out on work and took me to the ER up in Seattle where they do my ECT treatments now.

We clocked in at 1:25 and I got into my room almost exactly 9 hours later.

T I R E D

So far so good. Found some nice folks and like the staff. Got some great tomato soup here.

Hoping to get onto the ECT schedule for Monday and we shall see.

I think we're gonna be trying a "new" medication to try and help with my sleeping.

We aren't allowed to have laptops or cellphones on the unit so I will be sparse for the next week at least (as if I haven't been sparse for MONTHS now!).

Thank you all for your support. I hope-truly-to see those days when I'm well enough to catch up with all of your blogs and stories too.

Be well.

Still Here

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

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

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

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

Life is messy right now.


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

Be well.

Identities

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

Back on the horse.

Today has been a better day and I'm not wasting much time when it comes to looking forward and making positive changes.

Recommitting to my health means a lot of work in many different realms. Mind, body, and soul-it's all connected and I need to reestablish a healthy balance. So here's some stuff I've recommitted to working on:

1.  Physical health.

I twisted my ankle over a month ago and haven't let it recuperate fully. I've also been experiencing progressive numbness and tingling in my arms, wrist pain, and difficulties grasping or pinching for several weeks now. 

My primary care provider suspected carpal tunnel and then a coach suggested that I look into thoracic outlet syndrome and wouldn't ya know it! Spot on. I saw an occupational therapist yesterday and boy howdy. Talk about some good hurt.

It's gonna take a while to heal up and I have to make long term changes, but I'm so glad to know what's going on and have a good direction to head in.

Healing injuries is one facet of my physical health. Focusing on my workout instead of letting my anxiety hijack my "treatment" time is another vital part of my physical health. Improving my diet, getting better sleep, and spending more time outside are other important items to work on. (Yes, these can be considered DBT skills)

Maintaining my physical health not only helps with mood stability, it also helps with self-esteem and resiliency. When I do have bad dips, being in better physical health means bouncing back quicker. 

BB gunning after more dates
(I think he's getting more deliberate playin' that "cute card!")

2. Mind.

I've fallen out of practice with my DBT skills. Being around my family has meant a lot of triggers and a lot of pressure toward bad habits. Moving away is the biggest, most helpful step toward regaining my mental stability. The move isn't going to happen instantaneously-though I can begin working on my DBT immediately. 

The top three things I'm going to work on first? Catching judgments, utilizing distraction and participation, and self-care. 

Catching judgments is a helpful way to veer away from black-and-white thinking. It's helped me tamp down my suicidal impulses and negative self-talk. Distraction and participation help with my anxiety as well as not getting carried away with depressive rumination. Self-care means a lot of things for different folks; for me it means mindfully pursuing healthier habits including: bathing, eating well, hydrating, doing my hair more often, putting on "real clothes" instead of PJs all day, and so on. 

DBT skills address body, mind, and soul-true-for me it falls mostly under "mind" because it takes a lot of mental work!

Hospital visit.

3. Soul.

Healing a broken heart means acknowledging the damage and while I've discussed this many times before, I am recommitting myself to creating healthy distance from my family. I found this article very helpful and am continuing to read and muster my defenses and conviction.

It's been so very difficult for me to cope with the intense feelings of (in my mind) letting my family go. I think doing some reading, writing some key points down, and actively pursuing progress will help me make some progress which should garner more stability and health and PEACE!

I also find DBT skills helpful in achieving peace and soothing my soul. 

Heh, when I was in DBT they talked about it as a lifestyle change and not a contained treament. Yep. I can vouch for that ;o)

It's a lot of work and that's okay.
"It's what I do."
(This is from "Alpha House" BTW)

So. I've written somethings out. I'm getting back on the horse. One good day at a time is great, but I'm working toward getting those weeks of remission at a time, and that means a coordinated attack. 

That said, it's all about baby steps. The dance I have to do to maintain health is complex and I've fallen out of practice. Now it's time to relearn it and get my groove back. One step at a time.

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)

Again.

Having a hard relapse. Not sure if this is last week coming back with a vengeance or a totally new front of bad mood-weather but it's taken me under like a riptide. I thought making it through the weekend meant I was back on track and outta the woods, but I guess not.

Things got pretty bad, pretty fast yesterday afternoon and even though I reached a point where I was ready to die and an eerie calm came over me, I decided to wait and see how I felt in the morning... Well, the thoughts were there to greet me this morning and I've been confused and teary and sad despite going to my regular gym class and going through the motions.

It ain't pretty. We've got an ECT appointment for tomorrow.* I'm disappointed in myself, in the hand I've been dealt... I'm just tired of fighting. The dark thoughts are so convincing, so reassuring.

I've had a variety of symptoms besides the suicidal ideation-crying and shaking and loss of expression, my face just slack and no laughter, no frustration, just "blah" from me... but nothing new. It's all familiar. I've been here before.

Sigh.

I don't know what's going to happen. I feel so "blah" about things either way it's a bit confusing. I would be happy to be snuffed out and out of the fight, I even feel dismissive about leaving behind loved ones and friends and the inconvenience and hurt that would cause-I know it's not my "right" mind but it's such a powerful sense of release that overtakes me in these deep dips... I'm sure some of you can relate.

On the other hand I can still grasp those whispering, rational thoughts that this is all temporary and the disease overtaking me and that I want to live I just don't want to continue hurting this way... Sheesh, it's downright crazy how quickly my reasonable mind is overwhelmed by these horrible, dark thoughts-like a massive, lightning quick avalanche sweeping my life off track. Ugh.

Like I said, it's confusing, but I trust the hubby and can still kinda hear that part of me that still sees the light and although there is a heavy presence of darkness in my mind I'm still edging forward toward wellness somehow.

I'm baby steppin' major today. Will try to keep the blog updated as things progress <3


*Apparently the doctors are wobbling between TMS and ECT, so things are up in the air for now but hopefully I'll find out this afternoon.... They want me to try and make it through without the ECT and stick with just the TMS, maybe do ECT Friday for "emergencies only." More confusion! Anyways. Will update later.

October, you're here!

It's my favorite month.

I still feel shitty. I'm still not myself-or at least the self that I like.

This week has been.... rough, but with bright patches. I've managed to do more than I have in weeks but I've also had really dark days and the bad thoughts toward baby and myself have returned.

Last night I started lithium. We're going to ramp that up and then back the Seroquel off.

It's pretty hard to be interested or enjoy anything right now. I feel so in limbo and my heart is just numbed out. It's disconcerting when I'm actually engaged or kind or enthused, because those bright moments come out of relative darkness.

Hoping life will make more sense soon. Til then I'm gimping along just trying to feed myself, not hurt myself or others, and stick to the plan even when I lose faith in it.

Oh October, I wish I could greet you with more cheer.

Thank goodness for birds. My balcony flowers and feeders have brought me much peace and joy the last few days. Stellar's jays, chickadees, dark-eyed juncos, hummingbirds, and even a Northern flicker. So glad I bought those feeders that I've wanted for years. Should've done this ages ago!

Once and Again

A memory came to me during a walk today....

Once I walked just off the pavement
The local park slash water reclamation site
Wasn't prepared for such a horde of teens
To walk beside each other I dove into the rough
I slipped on dog shit
Feel flat on my back with the breath kicked out of my lungs
Tears came but they weren't sure why
Was I sad? Was I hurt? Was I-
laughing?
I laughed. My embarrassment blended
With a cheerful flush of belly laughs and
deep sucked breaths
A boy fell in love with me that day,
in just that moment.
He told me weeks later.
The girl he was with, she would never have laughed
Somehow I was a girl worth wanting
When I slipped in that shit.
I was loveable.


Today was a different sort of walk. The air was perfectly chilled, the sun warm between gusts of chilly autumn wind but my walk wasn't pleasant. My limbs were heavy and lurching, my eyes cast down, my brain in shadows. I cried. I sobbed. I gasped for air and understanding.

I told my husband how the bad thoughts were back, how I didn't think I would see our son learn to ride a bike like the cheerful children that passed us on the path. I told him how angry I was at my family. That I felt as if they had saddled me with so many problems, claimed to want to help me, and then disappeared and disappointed me like so many times before. I told him it felt like I was back in the blackness that I was dwelling in before inpatient. That this past month was just a distraction, not his so-called progress.

I could hear the falsehoods, the stain of depression on my words, but I had to say them, because part of me believes it all. A big part of me. It feels those horrible things, they become true in my hijacked mind. I have to let them out or they will kill me. Hell, it feels as if all those terrible thoughts will kill me even when I shed light on them.

I am hurting. Hurting like I've hurt so many times before. Wishing for a reprieve. Wishing for a different life, reality, existence. I can't see the way out, but I'm told there is one. I just have to wait until the wind shifts and it is revealed to me again. When my heart can look up and out again, and is ready to see, and the winds are right, I will find my way out. Once and again. And again.




Ugh. It's hot chocolate o'clock. Less thinking, more being.

Wishing everyone happier Sundays than mine has been so far. And good grief, let's hope the Hawks win.

Floundered

floun·der¹

ˈfloundər/

verb

past tense: floundered; past participle: floundered

1. struggle or stagger helplessly or clumsily in water or mud.

   "he was floundering about in the shallow offshore waters"

   synonyms:

   struggle, thrash, flail, twist and turn, splash, stagger, stumble, reel, lurch,blunder, squirm, writhe "people were floundering in the water"

   • struggle mentally; show or feel great confusion.

     "she floundered, not knowing quite what to say"

     synonyms:

     struggle, be out of one's depth, have difficulty, be confounded, be confused; More

   • be in serious difficulty.

     "many firms are floundering"

     synonyms:

     struggle financially, be in dire straits, face financial ruin, be in difficulties,face bankruptcy/insolvency, founder "more firms are floundering"

   
   

This day. It could've been fine but it wasn't. It alternately recovered and was lost so many times, battling anxiety and nausea, in the end leaving me in tears, sobs, and numbness. 

I so want this pain to go away. I want better days. I need better days not these terrible ones. I need to feel like I have a normal, healthy self to return to. I know I've made some progress, but my mind doesn't see it today. I just feel so weary.

Fuck this day and it's little dog too.

Here's hoping sleep will bring me a better mood tomorrow.

Chaperoned, to the Bone!

Mom was here today to keep watch on me while the hubs was at work. She came up yesterday afternoon.

Things went pretty well. We were a little too active, going up to the outlets and walking a bit right up until my therapy appointment, but I did appreciate the distraction. The entire first half of the day I didn't get swept away by my thoughts and it was a nice break even if it was hard on me physically.

The therapy appointment went well, although it was a bit tense. My therapist was a bit baffled that I ended up hospitalized, she didn't think things were so bad. It seems like we have a chance at changing directions and making things work. It looks like I'll be in the outpatient program at Overlake for a week or so, so I said I would get in touch after or if I needed extra help during. Jury is still out, but I'd rather give it a go then add one more big change to the pot if I can help it.

Yeah, so the hubs made some calls and I got a call or two from Overlake and I have an intake appointment on Tuesday. It's a solid 2 hours long so I'm pretty sure I'm "in" but they hold off confirmation until the psychiatrist and clinical staff meet me. The program is from 8:30 AM to 2:30 PM and they have people stay 6-8 days. It would bump right up against the Disneyland trip (or should I say the controversial Disneyland trip) but I think it will be helpful, I just hope a little vacay (Fri-Tues) doesn't hamper my progress. *sigh* I just can't win. I guess I will do the best I can and leave it at that.

So... Oh. Yeah. Cancelling on my doula client has been bothering me but overall my mood was all right today. I think staying distracted helps. There's nothing worrying can do for me, so I don't feel too bad about keeping my mind off of things. The hubs and I are going to work on a phone call script so I can call her up this weekend if I don't hear back soon. *gulp* I feel so horrible but he and the psychiatrist have a point, I'm in no condition to help someone else. I can barely exist myself. So... Ugh. I still feel bad. Like I should have just bit my tongue and thrown myself under the train and done the gig, but that is self harming in a way.

Boy. I am all twisted up... How did I get so back asswards about taking care of myself? Sometimes the crazy is just unbelievable, even when I've lived with it for so long.

Anyways. Gonna work on the "DEFCON" scale to help my family know how to help me during my bad times... Might be an ongoing project this weekend between distraction and stress relief techniques.

My first day on 300 mg of Seroquel went all right, a bit tired but once I got going I stayed going.

One hour at a time. Just one. *sigh*

That Same Agony

Yesterday was a yo-yo day. The bottom sucked. I was frozen in misery, my tears cried, my muscles tensed, stuck in bed like roadkill. The hubs and my MIL took turns checking on me while trying to take of the baby and make dinner. It was horrible to feel so low again after spending a week getting to a better place. 

Today I had an appointment with the psychiatrist and she was definitely not pleased with my reaction to coming home. "Too much, too soon" she said, "I think we underestimated the level of stress for you" and "I really think outpatient is where you need to be."

So we're looking into it. And childcare. And finding another doula for my October client. She also recommended getting a new therapist (already in the works) and moving the Disneyland trip (uh, yeah... probably not gonna happen). 

Basically I'm a train wreck in the midst of a hurricane. I can stand Baby Bananaface for a few minutes here and there but my tolerance is next to nothing. Tears or anger or both if I overdo it. I'm practically useless but at least I don't eat much (appetite is messed up too). 

Ugh. This sucks. Yesterday I said "I don't want to do this anymore" or "I don't want to live anymore" so many times in my head I lost track. I think it's reasonable to suspect that I may end up in that space again soon. 

I did "weave" a few bracelets and color a few mandalas but boy, I sure hope these drugs kick in soon, cuz at the moment it feels like I'm tossing matchsticks on a wet wool blanket hoping for a warm glow.

Shocker. It ain't workin!

At least Baby Bananaface is still glorious.

Resurfacing

Things got dark really fast this afternoon, and things were a little different... I'm not sure if was motherhood or the stress levels but my darkness was different. When you have an illness like I do you become familiar with it, especially with the dark shadowy bits. The dark spells have certain feelings, patterns, even a sense of "normal" after a while even though being suicidal should never really be normalized...

Well, today I was definitely experiencing my "normal" crash but there was a new element. My dark logic, when my brain starts rationalizing suicide and the depressive propaganda machine gets going, for whatever reason it latched onto an insecurity regarding the hubbo. I found myself texting him gobbledygook about how he has always wanted me to eventually kill myself, that he's wanted to be a widower from the get-go, that his whole reason for being with me involves my eventual suicide somehow. Never had this bubbled to the surface before.

In hindsight, it seems totally batshit, but at the time I thought I was unveiling some concealed truth, pointing out an elephant in the room we had neglected to address. It was so blatantly "out there" the hubs texted and voicemailed me, "You are not yourself!" and tried to reason with me, repeating over and over that I was out of my mind and not myself. It made some impact but at that point I was already breaking down, barely able to move or speak. Thankfully at that stage the likelihood of self harm also breaks down (I'm just not capable of much of anything).

He got home, fed me, and took care of Baby while I rezoned. I laid down with a book on tape in my ears, did some puzzles, rested, and then I went to the table and resumed an art project. I was compelled, it was almost unthinking. This was a bit unusual, as the project had been causing me stress, but I resumed it with a "I do what I want and whatever happens happens, if I end up throwing it all away oh well" instead of having a hard goal. With that approach the artwork became therapeutic. I still wasn't speaking or looking at the hubs or Baby, but after completing the second smaller painting, I was able to speak and make some eye contact. I was back, if only somewhat.

I painted the warthog several days ago and then failed at 3 subsequent attempts at other letters.
Today I painted an "E is for Eider" and "L is for Little Brown Bat," enjoying myself instead of pressuring
and I like what I turned out. I couldn't communicate brain-voice, but I could function brain-paper, and that
seemed to help get the rest back on line as well.

We went on to interview some potential babysitters, handled a plumbing issue with our landlord, and had dinner, then I discovered the wonderful comments on my blog and I cried happy tears. I feel so alone, so lonely so much of the time, so invisible. Seeing so many comments, being seen in that way, it is so anchoring. Like tethers in solid ground holding back this black balloon that was carrying me off. Thank you all, so much. It means so, so much.

I know the darkness will be back someday. I'm so tired of living in fear and fighting myself. I know life isn't easy, but I think it would be easier fighting something outside myself, something solid, something beside my own mind and body. It is so hard to be torn apart from within, so hard to grasp this slippery sickness, so hard to reconcile the urge to live dwelling in the same space as the urge to die.

But having people that understand, that share the burden, somehow that helps. It helps a lot.

Thank you.

Make it stop

I just want it to stop, I thought of HALT, Ive got all 4. i dont want to eat ive been angry for so long i give up, i'm sick of being lonely all the time, i'm tired. so tired, physically and in so many other ways, i want to stop this eternal tooth and nail battle. i just want it to stop. just want it to stop. i'm sick of fighting.

Tattle

The hubster had quite the day yesterday taking care of me and Baby. I was able to feed and watch Baby a little but he was main caretaker nearly all day. I recovered my balance a little for the evening and we were able to go for a walk. It was actually a little out of order my perk up in mood....

Usually I break down and we talk things out then go for a walk or "get back on the horse" trying to take care of me but this time I asked if we could go for a walk and felt lighter and started talking without a break down. I had him read a journal entry and a blog entry and he got to open up about how he's been feeling.

It was heart wrenching but good to hear his perspective (great even). He isn't always that expressive but sometimes he comes up with some wonderful turns of phrase. He said that day he had been mourning me, that when the darkness comes it completely erases the real me, I disappear, it's like a mini coma. It's not just a bad mood where I'm still Hannah, it's night and day and I'm not myself. He was so sweet emphasizing that in these times I'm not myself and that I can't feel bad for what I think and do because I'm not myself, it's not the real me.

He opened up about feeling wore out and clarified that while he hadn't been talking about my self harm or the mood dip it was because he doesn't like to bring it up when I have a good day and talking about it while I'm down isn't always helpful, so sometimes he just bites his tongue and waits for a more stable tine to discuss things.

He also mentioned that he had texted my mom. He had asked what her schedule was for the week and if she could come up as I was having some mental health issues. She responded with a lot of excuses and odd references to my neighbors, recommending I go down there with the Baby and sit with some neighbors. Not helpful and no inquiries into how I was really doing or how bad things were. Not surprising but definitely disappointed him. As many times as she will say "I'm always there for you" her idea of support can be hit or miss.

Surprisingly though my dad called while we were out on our walk. He and the hubster talked for several minutes about the state of things and eventually the hubster handed the phone off to me. The second I heard my dad ask, "Haven't been feeling too well, eh?" I broke into sobs. Thankfully we weren't in a super exposed part of the walk but it was still a public break down!

We talked for quite a while and even though my father still has a hard time understanding what my illness is really like and how mental illness works he listened and tried to be supportive which was helpful. I think part of him still sees mental health as a thing of willpower and thinking about this made me want to type out a hypothetical letter to him...



Dear Dad,

I know it's hard for you to understand my sickness. I know it seems like something I should be able to beat and make disappear, something that I should figure out how to fix and keep fixed but it doesn't quite work that way. You may even think that it's a question of personal strength and that my relapses are due to a weakness in character, a lapse in discipline, or laziness-I sometimes think this myself-but that's not how it works. Sometimes I can avoid the pitfalls, but other times it's just a storm passing over me... It's complicated.

Sometimes I have regular ups and downs like "normal" folk. My emotions are reasonable, my reactions modulated, my mind and judgement is sound. But when I have an episode or a relapse my brain becomes hijacked by the disease. My logic is corrupted and rational thinking becomes nearly impossible. All my knowledge, experience, and wisdom is overwritten by a mental virus-sometimes it's a hypomanic virus, sometimes a depressive virus. 

When the hypomania hits I feel overly positive, make rash decisions, think that I can do much more than is reasonable, feel so jazzed I only sleep for 4 hours each day (I normally need 8-10 hours of sleep). Sometimes these switches sneak up on me, my mind tells me "it's just a great day!" but it's really the illness. When the symptoms are "feeling good, being up beat, and getting a lot done" it's easy to think "what's the big deal?" but it is a big deal because when I get on a high like that it disrupts my sleep and routines and sets me up for a big fall.

When the depression hits self harming and suicide become rational ideas, I can barely get out of bed, sometimes simple movements (like shifting position on the couch or reaching for a water bottle or wiping my nose) become nearly impossible as if I'm stuck in a vat of crystallized honey, I have panic attacks and anxiety, near constant tension in muscles all over my body, and a sick, sucking feeling in my stomach. Sometimes I will sleep for 12 or more hours a day, other times I struggle to get 5 or 6 hours, either way I suffer and struggle to get back on a healthy schedule. 

In a severe relapse it can take weeks for me to myself righted again, sometimes it can take months-I'll have good days thrown in there but I've had years where I'm stuck between hypomanic and depressive states without being "normal" for very long. It's a big factor in my weight gain since both states can affect my appetite and often put me in a place where sweets and carby foods are the only thing that ever sound good to eat.

I know that I have many things to be thankful for and that it's hard to imagine me really believing that everyone would be better off if I were dead but when my mood dips down it really, truly seems like the best thing for everyone. Having been suicidal multiple times a year (sometimes as often as multiple times a week) for over a decade it's become a very familiar idea and it's easier to slide into that depth of mood each time I relapse. It's like the path in my mind has become worn down and whenever my mood fails my thoughts take that path of least resistance, ending up at suicide as a solution. It seems crazy but that's because it is, I'm not in my right mind when these thoughts crop up, it's not my true logic, it's the disease's tainted logic, the sickness' programming overwriting my own.

When I self harm it's a similar situation but slightly different. My logic becomes skewed but it's also a very physical compulsion. The physical pain relieves the mental and physical pain caused by the depression, it distracts my brain from rerunning the suicidal and depressed thought sequences that loop in my mind during an episode so that when I self harm I very often feel better for a short time. It's a coping technique, a negative one but one that works quite often. It doesn't make sense to hurt yourself to heal yourself but it can be like a hard shutdown that reboots me-the virus or diseased thoughts usually return, it just interrupts the episode and gives me a momentary reprieve.

This is only a bit of what I go through. I'm not sure how to explain what the hubster and I have been through and what this illness really looks like day-to-day and over the years, it's such a big deal. It's a huge part of our lives and who I am but at the same time it's totally NOT me. It's hard to comprehend an invisible illness that masks itself as personality, that hijacks someone from the inside-out, a disease that doesn't just coalesce in physical symptoms but expresses itself using my voice, my movement, my thoughts. If I didn't experience firsthand I would say it sounds like a cheesy sci-fi flick, but that's just what it is.

I live my life sharing my existence with an illness, not simply sharing my body like arthritis, diabetes, or a heart condition. When my disease flares up it takes my body and my soul and my mind, expressing itself over all planes of my existence not just the physical, which makes it so hard to see it for what it is and not mistake it for the real me.

It took me a long, long time to realize these patterns and understand the nature of my illness (heck, I'm still cracking the code) and it was exceptionally hard for me to accept it as a fact of life. You may say, "why accept it? fight back, don't accept this, reject it" but it's not something I can excise. Drugs may dampen the effects but they don't kill the virus and very often they suppress the real me, prevent me from feeling any natural highs or lows, prevent me from experiencing happiness as well as sadness in addition to the troublesome symptoms. 

It's a losing game. The best I can do is try and maintain a preventative lifestyle and avoid symptoms cropping up, and recovering as quickly as possible when they do. There isn't always a way to win in life, sometimes a tie is the best we can do, and living well with Bipolar II is almost always a tie of sorts. I never really defeat the disease, it's always there but when I do well enough I get to be "there" too instead of overwritten.

I don't know if you'll really understand any of this but even when you don't you're able to listen and be supportive and I really appreciate that. I just hope that you aren't disappointed in me or think that I don't try hard enough to fix myself, because I'll never be "fixed," this is part of my genetic, physical, mental make up and it's something I'll live with for the rest of my life no matter how hard to try to make it disappear. I guess that's what I really want you to understand. That I try even though there is no cure. That I'm not a failure because I can't cure an incurable disease. 

Love,
Hannah

Freaky Friday

Started off okay enough this morning despite little sleep and hardly any food I made it to the lactation consultant appointment on time, just a little harried. The appointment went well and while I felt frustrated I didn't feel overwhelmed until later at the grocery store when I was trying to find the stuff she recommended. I couldn't find what I was looking for, I got teary. My appetite was already suppressed but then I could hardly find something I wanted to eat, just walking became difficult. My mood just went downhill from there.

I cried it out this afternoon while taking care of baby and force feeding myself, took a nap after his afternoon feeding and thought I made a bit of a bounce back but that didn't last long. I slid back down again and couldn't eat the food the hubster prepared for dinner. In fact, I could hardly move. It took me several minutes to make a simple adjustment in my chair, my brain-to-body pathways seemed to be filled with molasses. I could barely speak and made no facial expressions, I was frozen. This after more tears and anger and muscle tension.

Once I got moving again I thought I was going to start rebooting and making my way out of the funk but I slid back again after the hubbo talked about "we'll do things differently this time, there are options." I don't want to go on drugs, I don't want us to be dealing with this all on our own and have the hubbo picking up all the slack and us saving face-and it really doesn't seem like we have options. There is no help around the corner, there is no community support, I was suffering and all I could do was sit and suffer. I ended up sobbing more and even flailing and straining, yelling in an angry outburst.

Eventually I settled back into a little paralysis than earlier, then rolled over to feed the baby again. While I fed him I ruminated on something the hubbo said in response to my weakly mumbled "I want to cut myself." He said, "that's a temporary solution, this is temporary, it'll pass." It struck me. They say suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but if self harm is a temporary solution for a temporary problem, doesn't that compute? It computed beautifully at the time.

After the feeding I dragged the nearest pair of scissors across my forearm several times. Just deep enough to break the skin and make a burn but not deep enough to bleed. I had begun to feel relief before I even got up to get them, the decision calming me. It would all be better shortly. And it was. After the scratching I felt relieved. I could finally eat, finishing the spaghetti reheat the hubbo presented to me and going for some Ben & Jerry's on top of that. I even drank water. I felt better. Able to smile, move freely, function.

It's hard for me to understand why self harming is such a big deal. I have a feeling it's part of the episode and I may not be in my right mind, but I feel like it helped me a lot tonight. I was ready to lay in bed and marinate in my misery but now I feel like I can get on with life. I hope the feeling sticks around.

Guess we'll see.

So Far From Then

It seems like not so long ago I was recovering from a pretty bad episode. Completely knocked on my ass, back to square one trying to anchor myself in this world and find a reason to roll out of bed in the morning. I still bear the pink scar on my upper arm from that bad week. Although it's been over 2 months it feels like it just happened.

But so much has changed since then.

The hubster and I talked for days about needing something to change. I emphasized how fed-up I was being stuck in the same cycles just waiting for my disease to bite me in the ass and losing track of the days I spent tucked away in the apartment, alone with the animals; I needed something to change as soon as possible.

We talked about me going back to work and back to school. Talked about moving. Even talked about starting a family and how we really wanted to have kids before our thirties (late-twenties kinda sneak up on ya). Even with all our ideas and considerations we felt at a loss. All our logic and rationale wasn't getting us anywhere, it was time for a leap of faith. Being spiritual people we felt compelled to launch our question out into the universe and see where the cosmic die would fall.

What should we focus on? Family or career? Do we put our dreams of having children on the back burner and focus on getting me back to school, into a career, and ourselves in a house? Or should we jump aboard the baby train while the eggs are fresh?

We rolled the dice and waited for the message.

Now it's months later and sure, my arm still carries the same mark and I still struggle to get out of bed in a timely manner but my mood is much better. I haven't been exercising as much and my diet was shot to hell the last several weeks but for a very good reason.

I'm pregnant.

Today is the last day of my first trimester to be more specific. My baby is the size of a plum and has already turned my life upside down. Barfing until I pee my pants, eating nearly constantly, crying over wasted banana (in my defense it was making me barf) and generally being a hot, cranky, hormonal, unstable, nauseated mess!

The universe answered our question. We conceived on our first try. Our motion of faith, our roll of the dice got the directions we were needing.

Was it a crazy thing to do? Yep. Did it scare the bejeezus out of us? Yep. Are we happy with out decision? Absolutely.

It's a complicated journey that brought us here. My disease has certainly influenced us, how could it not? But we chose to conceive in spite of my illness and move on with life as best we can. We've learned a lot through all the dark days. Learned about each other, partnership, coping, and health. We've also learned that we must move forward. In some strange way my disease has helped me realize that sometimes I need to get out of my own way and just live the life I'm here to live and the hubster is ready to live that life with me.

I've found supportive midwives and they're well aware of my mental history and we're all on the same page; upbeat but cautious and realistic. I could relapse at any time and I'm at increased risk for postpartum depression and I accept those risks. I'm not down and out and life doesn't wait for anybody. I'm moving on to a new phase and hoping for the best while being ready to fight the worst. A little scared but so happy and awestruck as well (I think that's pretty normal!).

So that's the big news and probably why the blog has been a little dry lately-I haven't been able to write freely as I kept this secret! Now that we've heard the baby's heartbeat and I've made it through the first 12 weeks I feel safe letting the cat out of the bag and I'm excited to share my experience more fully from now on!

Come February (or late March) we'll have a new member in our pack! Hope he/she isn't allergic to cats!

Dip

Been coping with a mood dip lately and struggling to de-stress, relax, and get a grip. Not feeling so well physically doesn't help the situation!

The hubster said something helpful this morning during our walk, something about how I set the mental tone in my head. If I think something sucks, it sucks. If I think positively about it, I'll be happier. It's simple, straightforward, and true.

Too often I let myself think "down" about things. I think it comes from a family tradition of pessimism that has somehow been mutated into a "realism" that is really just self-defeating mental habits. It's not stupid to be optimistic or positive! It's life affirming and useful!

So I'm going to give positive thoughts a renewed effort for the next few days and hope to avoid falling any deeper into darkness. I'm also renewing my efforts to get active (another side effect of not feeling so hot, I end up on the couch instead of getting active) and keep up with the housework. Between the sickly feelings and the darn heat I've been a bit of a couch slug (one step up from couch potato).

In other news I've been having some crazy dreams lately. One about being mauled by a bear. Another about going hunting with my dad and dodging bullets from crazy hunters around us. Yet another about a bomb scare on a field trip and one about some horrible bleeding (menstrual) at a party-that one nearly qualified as a nightmare though nothing near as terrifying as the bear attack. All in all it's made for some intense nights!

Square One

Rough, dark day. One of those "back to the drawing board" sort of days. Back to "square one." The hubster comforted me, saying that even though it feels like I'm starting all over that I'm starting all over in a different place. Each and every time I've given up on my life I've restarted in a different place, sort of like how it's impossible to step into the same river twice.

So, I've bottomed out. Hit bottom again. Amazed that yet again I'm still here despite those blackest moments. Despite feeling the eerie calm of deciding to die and being comforted by the logic of my diseased brain. That broken brain tell me "I wasn't meant to live," "their lives will be better without me," and "it's better to end it than continue living this half-life."

Here again at square one. Facing a familiar decision to chose life for myself and start again at building my little house of cards.

Before I even got out of bed today I was thinking about dying. I became fixated on creating an inventory of my belongings and determining how they would be dealt with after I passed. I even composed an email to send to the hubby but did not send it. I managed to eat an apple and do laundry.

Midday I spoke the hubster on the phone and was still out of it. He convinced me to eat some lunch, saying something about doing small things to see if they made me feel any better instead of giving up and simply feeling crappy. I had a tuna melt. Did the catboxes and kept the laundry moving.

When he got home I was still wonky. His simple suggestion to go for a hike brought me to the floor, staring into the carpet with my head in my hands. I couldn't talk. He phoned the insurance company and discussed our counseling coverage. I refused to consider "wasting more money."

Somehow I ended up at the computer, showing him the email I didn't send earlier and the inventory I wanted to establish. That got the ball rolling, he was disturbed and concerned and we talked it out. Not that I gave up wanting to kill myself, quite the opposite. During our talk I solidified a plan and was convinced that it was better for me to end my life than allow so much suffering to continue.

At some point things settled enough that we showered and went out to dinner. Big transition, right? Guess suicidal break downs are par for the course at our house. The hubster lead me through an impromptu date night. Him trying to help me "enjoy the moment" and I savoring what I saw as the "last time" we'd visit these places together.

Looking at him across the dinner table from me I felt my heart ache. I saw him listening, looking, being with me and realized that I do mean a lot to him. Saw for a moment how lonely he could be without me, felt with my heart instead of being misled by my diseased thoughts and was saddened to think of us parting, instead of relieved to end my suffering. In that simple moment, looking at my husband with a goofy grin on his face as we discussed menu items, I felt the veil of darkness lifting. I could see a reason for living.

Over the course of the evening I felt more and more clarity coming back as the hangover symptoms settled into my body; the aches and pains of such an emotional overload that I'm all too familiar with. I still feel desperate, that something needs to change and needs to change very, very soon, but I'm not sure what, or how. I feel lost and weak and durn near hopeless, but somehow I'm here.

Back at square one.