I've been thinking about my qualities as a partner...
Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Anxiety. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 4, 2019
Monday, March 4, 2019
Emotions. I have them.
Today my car decided to overheat on the way to work. Massively. Not completely destructively, but bad enough that we sat on the side of the freeway for 20 minutes.
My interpretation of the terminology is this: my car is allergic to its radiator fluid, threw up most of it in my parking stall last night, and continued to spew out what we force fed it on the limping drive home. My poor mechanical baby is sick.
I have no skills in the area of fixing this. This terrifies me on that level that hates feeling out of control.
My interpretation of the terminology is this: my car is allergic to its radiator fluid, threw up most of it in my parking stall last night, and continued to spew out what we force fed it on the limping drive home. My poor mechanical baby is sick.
I have no skills in the area of fixing this. This terrifies me on that level that hates feeling out of control.
Friday, June 17, 2016
Therapy
Today was my psychiatrist appointment.
In the past few months since the last time I saw him, I've had a drunk day, some pretty low days where it was a giant effort just to get out of bed, and some normal I'm fine days.
I was reluctant to go see him because I did not want to report on the homework assignment he gave me the last time.
Homework: Approach my marriage like I approach Christmas. Figure out a way to make it fun.
Yeah, I did not like that. He told me my face was going to stick in the expression I was making.
When I reported back to him today, I let him know flat out that completing that assignment was flat out impossible. How in the hell does one make verbal abuse fun???? Is that even possible? I'm thinking whoever managed to do it would be some kind of masochist. Who in their right mind likes to be criticized and made to feel 2 inches tall and stupid constantly?? How is that fun?
It's bad enough that my daughter has moved out for the rest of the summer and moved in with her fiance. I certainly don't blame her. She deserves to live in an environment where she feels safe and loved and allowed to make mistakes without a huge and loud freak-out session.
So... yeah. I tossed that homework aside and did something else. Bought some books. Had a frank conversation with Mr. Grumpster. Started reading. Told him he needed to get some therapy. He doesn't believe me - he thinks it's just a temper thing. It's not. It's a 'watch what words come out of your mouth' thing. It's a 'stop blaming everyone for not being perfect' thing. It's a 'do you love this person more than you love' thing.
My doctor asked about my energy levels, my ability to focus, my appetite, and on a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the worst, where would I rate my depression. Oh, and any thoughts of suicide. (I can at least say no to that one.)
He feels that my stress levels are contributing to my need for constant sleep and low everything else. I'm pretty sure he's right. He also says that my 'drunk' moments are my brain's version of mania. They're tiny in comparison to regular bi-polar, but they're mania all the same. So... yay. I've gotten stressed enough that mania is back in the works.
I love my doctor because he's very frank with me. He looked at me and said, "We could change up your meds, but you're extremely sensitive to side effects. Not only that, but taking a pill is not going to fix your stress levels at home."
That is true. Messing around with the chemicals in my brain and my body causes all kinds of issues. Right now I'm totally fine with dealing with the nausea/dry-heaving caused by the Effexor. The side effects of the other stuff I've been on so far were soooooo not worth it.
He said the following were my options.
* Therapy - for me. If nothing else, I need someone to talk to in order to face and handle the stress of my marriage and coping skills. And this was not a suggestion, it was something he said I NEED to do. Not really an option if I want to feel better instead of continually getting worse.
* Couples therapy. I don't know if hubster's willing to do that. He's not even willing to talk to a therapist on his own.
* Um... there was a third thing, but I've forgotten it.
Money might be tight, but I am going to spend the $90/month on the therapist visits. She's worth it, she's amazing, and even though I should probably see her more often than once a month, it's better than nothing.
In the past few months since the last time I saw him, I've had a drunk day, some pretty low days where it was a giant effort just to get out of bed, and some normal I'm fine days.
I was reluctant to go see him because I did not want to report on the homework assignment he gave me the last time.
Homework: Approach my marriage like I approach Christmas. Figure out a way to make it fun.
Yeah, I did not like that. He told me my face was going to stick in the expression I was making.
When I reported back to him today, I let him know flat out that completing that assignment was flat out impossible. How in the hell does one make verbal abuse fun???? Is that even possible? I'm thinking whoever managed to do it would be some kind of masochist. Who in their right mind likes to be criticized and made to feel 2 inches tall and stupid constantly?? How is that fun?
It's bad enough that my daughter has moved out for the rest of the summer and moved in with her fiance. I certainly don't blame her. She deserves to live in an environment where she feels safe and loved and allowed to make mistakes without a huge and loud freak-out session.
So... yeah. I tossed that homework aside and did something else. Bought some books. Had a frank conversation with Mr. Grumpster. Started reading. Told him he needed to get some therapy. He doesn't believe me - he thinks it's just a temper thing. It's not. It's a 'watch what words come out of your mouth' thing. It's a 'stop blaming everyone for not being perfect' thing. It's a 'do you love this person more than you love
My doctor asked about my energy levels, my ability to focus, my appetite, and on a scale of 1-10 with 10 being the worst, where would I rate my depression. Oh, and any thoughts of suicide. (I can at least say no to that one.)
He feels that my stress levels are contributing to my need for constant sleep and low everything else. I'm pretty sure he's right. He also says that my 'drunk' moments are my brain's version of mania. They're tiny in comparison to regular bi-polar, but they're mania all the same. So... yay. I've gotten stressed enough that mania is back in the works.
I love my doctor because he's very frank with me. He looked at me and said, "We could change up your meds, but you're extremely sensitive to side effects. Not only that, but taking a pill is not going to fix your stress levels at home."
That is true. Messing around with the chemicals in my brain and my body causes all kinds of issues. Right now I'm totally fine with dealing with the nausea/dry-heaving caused by the Effexor. The side effects of the other stuff I've been on so far were soooooo not worth it.
He said the following were my options.
* Therapy - for me. If nothing else, I need someone to talk to in order to face and handle the stress of my marriage and coping skills. And this was not a suggestion, it was something he said I NEED to do. Not really an option if I want to feel better instead of continually getting worse.
* Couples therapy. I don't know if hubster's willing to do that. He's not even willing to talk to a therapist on his own.
* Um... there was a third thing, but I've forgotten it.
Money might be tight, but I am going to spend the $90/month on the therapist visits. She's worth it, she's amazing, and even though I should probably see her more often than once a month, it's better than nothing.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
To-Do list
I am feeling overwhelmed by the things on my to-do list. Some are more important than others. Some are things I *want* to do vs things I *need* to do.
Today they all seem to be bombarding me at once. Therefore, I'm going to type them all out so that maybe I can look at them instead of having them roll around in my brain demanding attention.
Today they all seem to be bombarding me at once. Therefore, I'm going to type them all out so that maybe I can look at them instead of having them roll around in my brain demanding attention.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Work and Anxiety
Back in September when I was first hired, I didn't tell them about my mental illness. It was a personal test for myself to see if I could, in fact, handle a job.
I took a xanex every time I worked for the first week or so. I don't remember. But eventually it became necessary only once a month or even less than that.
Then came the day when there was a child throwing a complete and total tantrum. His mother just ignored it and continued shopping. Screaming, yelling, crying, loud loud loud. I broke down, freaked out, and my manager had me sit in the office until I calmed down - and the lady had *finally* left the store.
Not long after that, my xanex kicked in and I was ok the rest of my shift.
Since then, most of the people I work with now know about my anxiety. Amazingly enough, there are at least three other people there with the same issue. They each handle it in different ways. Me, I prefer the safety of the fitting room cave. Others prefer the register or they feel claustrophobic and freak out in fitting room.
With the stressors in my life and the ups and downs with the bi-polar, naturally there are going to be some days that are better than others.
Thursday there were a bunch of teenagers trying on dresses, a couple of moms with little kids, and some adult friends, all in the echoing fitting room. Oh my Holy LOUD. I thought I was going to lose it and start crying. The shakes started, and I was having a hard time breathing.
I called on the radio and asked if there was anyone on the sales floor that I could trade with for a few minutes, until all the loud was out. Immediately one of my co-workers came and took over for me and I went and helped finish the area she was recovering.
I didn't have to ask more than once, I didn't have to explain myself, it was just taken care of.
So far as I know, that has happened for every co-worker that has had an issue with their anxiety flaring.
We cover for each other, management doesn't resent it, and after it's calmed down, we go on with the work.
I don't regret not telling them up front about my issues and why I was looking for a job. I didn't know if they'd hire me if I wasn't sure I could hold a job.
While there are days that I don't want to go to work, don't think I can handle it, or just don't think I can crawl out of bed, I have to admit that it is an immense relief that my co-workers know.
People aren't nearly as judgemental as I assumed they would be. At least not in my workplace. Reasonable Accomodation is what they call it. I call it basic good humanity and I am grateful for it.
I took a xanex every time I worked for the first week or so. I don't remember. But eventually it became necessary only once a month or even less than that.
Then came the day when there was a child throwing a complete and total tantrum. His mother just ignored it and continued shopping. Screaming, yelling, crying, loud loud loud. I broke down, freaked out, and my manager had me sit in the office until I calmed down - and the lady had *finally* left the store.
Not long after that, my xanex kicked in and I was ok the rest of my shift.
Since then, most of the people I work with now know about my anxiety. Amazingly enough, there are at least three other people there with the same issue. They each handle it in different ways. Me, I prefer the safety of the fitting room cave. Others prefer the register or they feel claustrophobic and freak out in fitting room.
With the stressors in my life and the ups and downs with the bi-polar, naturally there are going to be some days that are better than others.
Thursday there were a bunch of teenagers trying on dresses, a couple of moms with little kids, and some adult friends, all in the echoing fitting room. Oh my Holy LOUD. I thought I was going to lose it and start crying. The shakes started, and I was having a hard time breathing.
I called on the radio and asked if there was anyone on the sales floor that I could trade with for a few minutes, until all the loud was out. Immediately one of my co-workers came and took over for me and I went and helped finish the area she was recovering.
I didn't have to ask more than once, I didn't have to explain myself, it was just taken care of.
So far as I know, that has happened for every co-worker that has had an issue with their anxiety flaring.
We cover for each other, management doesn't resent it, and after it's calmed down, we go on with the work.
I don't regret not telling them up front about my issues and why I was looking for a job. I didn't know if they'd hire me if I wasn't sure I could hold a job.
While there are days that I don't want to go to work, don't think I can handle it, or just don't think I can crawl out of bed, I have to admit that it is an immense relief that my co-workers know.
People aren't nearly as judgemental as I assumed they would be. At least not in my workplace. Reasonable Accomodation is what they call it. I call it basic good humanity and I am grateful for it.
Wednesday, March 2, 2016
I Wish I Could Protect My Children From The Yuck
I wish that there was some way to protect my children from difficult pregnancies and even more difficult recoveries.
Well, honestly, I wish there were a way to protect them from all things harmful. Of course, that would prevent their own growth and learning. How can they gain strength if they don't learn to climb over, dig under, or move around obstacles, right? But oh it's hard to watch.
My oldest is now struggling with Post-Partum depression. As I am open about my feelings and experiences, so is she.
I want to link to her post. I didn't know how to share my post-partum experience when I was having it. I made a lot of excuses for it at the time. I didn't honestly know how to cope, and I was unmedicated. My older children had to take on much of the parenting responsibility and my attitude about it was not helpful.
And now my daughter is having that same struggle. It is heartbreaking to share these thoughts and feelings together over the phone. It is comforting to find someone who truly understands, but it is also so very difficult to have to struggle through it.
Here is her post: Too Honest For Comfort
Thursday, February 18, 2016
Enduring
Someone sick = called in early on Monday. Someone quit = stayed late on Weds. Also had Blue & Gold for Wil and New Beginnings for Mina and Jada yesterday (Weds) Forgot to take xanex before the Blue & Gold... that was hard, but I got through it. At least New Beginnings was quiet.
I think I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed last night. Still have two more days of work this week. I am trying really hard to dig up some enthusiasm while I'm there. As Howard Taylor puts it, "Be the dancing monkey for the public.
Once upon a time, I worked 40+ hours a week. (When you're salaried, no one counts overtime.) For a couple of years I had two jobs and worked I don't even know how many hours a week. Now here I am finding 20ish hours a struggle.
Honestly? This week I have truly wondered if working is a good idea. Deep down I do love it, but wow is it hard. Thankfully next week I only work three days.
And yet I find myself wanting to get back into more involvement with my kids. I wanted to approach the Cub Master last night and tell him all the stuff we used to do when I was cub master. Wasn't sure how that would go over, so I kept my mouth shut. If you know me, you probably know how hard that was. I tend to want to take over when I feel like I'm good at something. I was good at being a pack leader. It was hard, but I loved it. There's nothing so fun as getting to be a 9yr old boy for a few hours a week.
Of course, that being said, I know there will be times when I can't function. Those days are part of my life now and I can almost accept it. However, I crave the involvement. Which is NOT simplifying my life, but it's something I want to do.
A little girl came over and asked me about Girl Scouts at the Blue and Gold. I have no clue how she knew to talk to *me* of the 60+ people there. Neither did her dad, but he took down all the information so he could enroll her.
I miss scouts. I miss the activities, the smiles on the girls and boys faces when they achieve something they didn't know they could do.
I think I fell asleep as soon as I hit the bed last night. Still have two more days of work this week. I am trying really hard to dig up some enthusiasm while I'm there. As Howard Taylor puts it, "Be the dancing monkey for the public.
Once upon a time, I worked 40+ hours a week. (When you're salaried, no one counts overtime.) For a couple of years I had two jobs and worked I don't even know how many hours a week. Now here I am finding 20ish hours a struggle.
Honestly? This week I have truly wondered if working is a good idea. Deep down I do love it, but wow is it hard. Thankfully next week I only work three days.
And yet I find myself wanting to get back into more involvement with my kids. I wanted to approach the Cub Master last night and tell him all the stuff we used to do when I was cub master. Wasn't sure how that would go over, so I kept my mouth shut. If you know me, you probably know how hard that was. I tend to want to take over when I feel like I'm good at something. I was good at being a pack leader. It was hard, but I loved it. There's nothing so fun as getting to be a 9yr old boy for a few hours a week.
Of course, that being said, I know there will be times when I can't function. Those days are part of my life now and I can almost accept it. However, I crave the involvement. Which is NOT simplifying my life, but it's something I want to do.
A little girl came over and asked me about Girl Scouts at the Blue and Gold. I have no clue how she knew to talk to *me* of the 60+ people there. Neither did her dad, but he took down all the information so he could enroll her.
I miss scouts. I miss the activities, the smiles on the girls and boys faces when they achieve something they didn't know they could do.
And frankly, it feels like it would be a great escape from... well... stuff that would be inappropriate to talk about on FB, but is super massive stressful that I don't know how to deal with. Crap that my psychiatrist challenged me to turn into something fun like I did with Christmas. I think the man is insane and mean for expecting me to be able to do it.
And honestly, I'm a complete coward. So much so, that when I missed my appointment on Tuesday, I still haven't rescheduled. I don't want to report that I have no idea how to do his stupid homework. Not only that, but I don't want to. After six weeks, I still have zero clue where to even start. Not smart of me, and I need to suck it up and set an appointment because the man manages my meds and my state of mind.
But AAARGH I hate admitting that I don't even want to try this challenge. It's a flat "Nope, not gonna do this one and you can't make me. I don't want to find a way to make it better; it's simply easier to continue to endure, so there. How about we forget I even brought this subject up.
Wow, that was a victim complex right there. Yeesh. If you read through that, you get extra stars for patience.
I'm gonna summon the strength to shower and get through my short four hour stint in the fitting room. I CAN make eye contact and smile at people for four hours. It's nice to see people smile back.
One of my co-workers said, "How do you get people to willingly let you count their clothes out? They always get mad at me." -- This surprised me, because I couldn't imagine any alternate scenarios.
Well, except for those few that are determined to be angry and upset. They generally start out that way no matter what is said or done. I honestly don't get a lot of those, but they happen. They hate that I slow them down by counting in, and they really hate that I slow them down by counting out. Oh AND the fact that their clothes have to touch the T-bar. That's even worse for those folks. Darn. I'm gonna do it anyway.
So why don't my people normally have an issue with counting in and counting out? I dunno. I make it funny? I laugh about it? They can sense that I'm not giving them an option, it's just the way it is? Smiling about it is funner? I swear to them I went to first grade and learned how to count or do basic math?
The fitting room is MY domain and it's a happy place for me. Maybe they can sense that? My life is hard enough and I hope I can make other people feel loved when they're having a bad day? Especially when clothes don't fit right, or they're having to try out bigger sizes and that's depressing? I have no idea.
I like people, and they tend to like me back.
Now, don't get me wrong, I KNOW my take-charge attitude totally offends some people. And wow can I be a know-it-all sometimes. I try to apologize and make it better when I'm aware of it.
And obviously I have personality conflicts with some people. Let's be real here, it happens to everyone. And when it does my attitude is, "Well, I know God loves them. He can love them over THERE, preferably not next to me." I know you know how that is. Everyone does. Some people just suck to be around no matter how hard you try.
Anyway, I need to go shower now. Love all y'al.
Monday, February 8, 2016
Oh I feel like I suck right now
The pitfall of having *me* as the homeschool 'leader' whatever thing I'm supposed to be, is that I forgot I have an entirely different email I'm supposed to be checking.
75 messages from teachers. 75.
If I could remember to check the dang thing, I could remember to push/remind/do my freaking JOB.
Granted, I cannot make the child's choices, but ohmyholycrap, I feel like an immense failure right now. What kind of mother stays oblivious to attempted communication from teachers?????
One more alarm I need to set on my phone as a reminder. Well, assuming the worst doesn't happen. Oh, I can't even tell you how bad it will be if the worst happens. On the plus side, grades are currently pulled up in all but two of the classes, and one of those is waiting for assignments to be graded. If you knew my daughter, you'd know why I was stressing over this. It's a very big deal. And don't tell me public school would be better. Just don't. Again, you don't know my daughter.
this is what my phone looks like:
*alarm: Take your meds
*alarm: get out of bed and shower for work - or heck, shower for hygiene.
*alarm: make dinner
*alarm: Hey, feed yourself lunch/breakfast
*alarm: it's time to read to kids
*alarm: bedtime for kids
*alarm: did you do your writing today?
*alarm: did you do your sketching today?
*work alarm: Break's over. Lunch is over. (timer set for 15 or 30 mins)
*new alarm: Check the homeschool email
*new alarm: check assignments (fridays) - because it's my JOB. And not only do they check child's work, they check to make sure I am being involved and helping.
*alarm: get out of bed and shower for work - or heck, shower for hygiene.
*alarm: make dinner
*alarm: Hey, feed yourself lunch/breakfast
*alarm: it's time to read to kids
*alarm: bedtime for kids
*alarm: did you do your writing today?
*alarm: did you do your sketching today?
*work alarm: Break's over. Lunch is over. (timer set for 15 or 30 mins)
*new alarm: Check the homeschool email
*new alarm: check assignments (fridays) - because it's my JOB. And not only do they check child's work, they check to make sure I am being involved and helping.
Alarms because I can't remember a damn thing because my brain doesn't function anymore. And the aphasia, that's annoying, too.
*sigh* The best I can do at this point is try to do better. I can't fix the past. No one can. But uuuuuugh my new brain is frustrating. How am I supposed to be an example of responsibility when I can't remember basic things without reminders?
I KNOW the depression is going to take this and make the guilt and feeling of failure even worse. And if I don't deal with it soon, the anxiety will kick in. I know I'm going to have to stay on top of that so it doesn't spiral down. But I guess right now I'm allowed to feel that way for a few minutes or however long until I handle the guilt and use it as a stepping stool instead of a holycrapISUCK!!!!!
And trust me: consequences. Oooooh consequences. I may never let this child out of the house until she's 30.
Tuesday, January 5, 2016
Therapeutic Homework
Saw the doc this evening. This time the homework sucks. *sigh*
Sometimes I feel it would be so much easier if he said, "Oh honey, I just can't believe you'd be expected to blah, blah, and blah. And Persons B and F should know better than to *insert verbs and scenarios here.* You're so picked on; here, have a pass on any accountability for the next year or so."
Sometimes I feel it would be so much easier if he said, "Oh honey, I just can't believe you'd be expected to blah, blah, and blah. And Persons B and F should know better than to *insert verbs and scenarios here
Pbbbbth.
This time I'm not telling what my homework is because I don't like it and I'm all pouty faced about it. Not even kidding. He told me my face would freeze like this if I didn't stop it.
Probably doesn't help that I am going to have to do some serious brainstorming and personal evaluation to come up with some answers for this poopy, poopy, poopy challenge in my development. This whole thing is covered in poop.
Tell me again why I want help? Why I want to get better??
I think my can-do attitude tried to get up and go, but slipped on the ice on the viaduct, froze when it connected with the chain-link fence, and then shattered as it dropped onto a passing semi.
Wednesday, December 16, 2015
I'm Not Ashamed Of My Mental Illness
Let's be honest, it's not something to be proud of, either. It's not like someone with Diabetes or Muscular Dystrophy goes around saying, "Hey! Look at me! I have an illness! Look at me, look at me, I'm so cool!" I'm not saying that.
What I am saying is that having a mental illness makes me determined to be open, to talk about it, to discuss what I go through.
Well, ok, I process externally so I tend to type up most everything I'm feeling anyway. Once I hit the 'publish' button and send it out into the nether to be read or ignored, the thoughts are no longer bouncing around inside my head.
Talking about the onset of my BiPolar Type 2 / BiPolar Depression, Anxiety, Psyche Ward stay, visits with my psychiatrist, and suicide attempt, are ways for me to cope. So really, this blog and my posts aren't honestly for anyone else; it's to help me process.
So why do I make it public instead of private? Because communicating is sooooo helpful. I'm a little strange that way.
I have found that most others who struggle with the same thing or different variations of these illnesses feel that there isn't anyone who understands.
Do you know why they feel that way? Because people who have never had clinical depression or anxiety have NO IDEA what it is like. I know this, because I'd never, ever, ever had it, nor understood it until I went through post-partum depression after my son was born. Two years of post-partum. That sucked. It was wonderful when that was over!!
The year I turned 40, the mad chemist experimenting inside my brain decided to switch things up on a more permanent basis. This sudden onset was/is not a pleasant one. I say sudden because I was privileged to live most of my life of working and having babies with a normal, healthy, robust amount of energy. I have met and know several people who have struggled with depression their entire lives.
THEIR ENTIRE LIVES!!
I cannot even comprehend living with this, trying to manage this while working - sometimes two jobs - finishing my degrees, and having small children.
These folks do it silently, with few people who understand, listen, or help when needed. They struggle with adulting while dealing with the guilt of not being capable of basic things when it's a really bad day.
They are heroes in my eyes. Do you hear me? HEROES!!!
I fell apart after a year and needed to be hospitalized. I was trying to claw the skin off my face because the pain was the only thing connecting me to reality. After another year, I really did attempt suicide. Coping with the onset of anxiety along with the depression was simply too much. TWO YEARS. Two years, and I couldn't handle it. Still am attempting to manage it.
So these folks who've lived with it for their whole lives? HEROES. I'm not even kidding.
Some are absolutely ashamed to talk about their mental health or their hospitalizations. Some simply cannot admit that there is an issue because they feel like they should be able to control it.
--- This one was me. I spent a good six or seven months convinced it was some sort of early menopause. My doctor ran just about every blood test possible, checking my hormone levels, my thyroid, the levels of vitamins and minerals in my system, etc. I was convinced that I could talk myself out of it or fix it with every naturepathic or homeopathic strategy I knew.
Nope. Depression. After three or four months of therapy and some low doses of temporary meds, diagnosed with BiPolar depression. No more temporary meds for me. Mood stabilizers AND anti-depressants with some Xanex on the side became necessary. In spite of every alternative health trick I knew. Wahoo. Boy, that went over well with my family. NOT. ---
I need you to realize that some cannot talk about it openly because of private personal reasons. And others simply don't feel safe discussing it with anyone.
This one right there? This is horrible and awful and sooo lonely. Understandable, though, because of the prevalent attitude. You know, the one saying that people who are depressed are using it as an excuse to be lazy. Should just cheer themselves up and get over it. Or claiming anxiety to get out of doing something they just didn't want to do.
*frustrated sigh*
I am one of the very few willing to talk openly about my experiences, my honest thoughts, or the massive grumpy days I have. Currently I have been in a horrible mood for nearly two weeks. Everyone frustrates me, I feel like they're all jerks and inconsiderate. Most of that is me, I know, but it's how I'm feeling.
Logic part of my brain says "don't interact with people right now. At least not the ones you love. Just hug them tight and keep your mouth shut. You get paid to be nice to people at work, so the pretend happy face works there. Wish you could keep pretending at home."
Illogical part of my brain says, "Who cares. Everyone can just go to hell. I want to move and live by myself out in the boonies where I don't have to see anyone, hear anyone, or have anyone getting into my stuff, move it around, break it, or whatever else is making me feel picked on."
Am I ashamed of these thoughts? Well, if I were, I wouldn't be typing them up here. Do I wish I could turn them off? oh yeah.
What I *can* do about these feelings that I cannot control is try to interrupt the tape. I kiss on of my kids' neck up and down until they giggle like mad. Or hug them tight for several minutes. I read out loud. I do anything I can to distract myself and concentrate on anything BUT the thoughts and feelings.
You who don't know Depression don't have a clue how hard it is to have to continue to interrupt these stupid stupid destructive thoughts that run in a loop.
Depression LIES, but it is oh so believable.
I need you to understand this. Those of us who struggle with Depression have our super awful bad days. It's such a fight to get out of bed. And some days that's the only battle we win. If our sinks are full of dishes, the floors not swept or vacuumed, it doesn't mean we don't care about living in a yucky environment. Oh, trust me, we care very much.
A depressive's messy house means one of two things: 1 - There are a bunch of kids living there and it's laughable to even think of summoning the energy to reinforce daily chores.
2 - Looking at the mess and seeing all that needs to be done is overwhelming. Knowing where to start is simply impossible and makes us cry. Summoning the energy to pick up a pair of socks and carry it to the laundry basket is hopeless.We feel guilty and horrible because any normal human being should be able to do something so simple. So we sit and stare at those socks and wish we could do it, wondering what the hell is wrong with us that we can't even do that simple little thing.
And anxiety? It's the weight of an elephant sitting on your chest, the pain of drawing in a breath, panic caused by ... ?? something?? People? some thought? Noise? What the heck triggered this?? And then can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe, curling up, shaking, then sobbing uncontrollably for AN HOUR!!
Ok? YOU PEOPLE WHO HAVE NEVER EVER EVER IN YOUR LIFE EXPERIENCED THIS?? Shut up about us folks with these types of mental illness being lazy. Just stop it. Right now.
This is real. I struggle with this.
I am not ashamed of the symptoms of this illness because they're real. Are you ashamed for having a runny nose when you have a cold? Or a raspy voice when you have a bronchial infection? I'm not proud of my symptoms; oh, they are so very frustrating.
Trust me, I'll tell you up front if I'm being lazy about cleaning, or just can't do it. Believe it or not, I DO recognize the difference. One involves the inability to summon motivation and energy. The other is simply not wanting to do it.
When I don't want to do work I hear my grandmother's or my mother's voice telling me "Sometimes you just have to do what you don't want to do."
Being incapable of doing the work means having to tell those voices to shut the hell up, because ranting at myself won't help me feel any better. It certainly won't make the weight of the world go away or prevent the fog of darkness from jumbling my thoughts so I can't concentrate.
Do you understand? This is my reality.
I have received so many messages, emails, phone calls, and visits from people who just wanted to talk about their struggles. Who couldn't believe that I'd talk openly - in church, for crying out loud, or on Facebook - about my constant fight. One woman was having such issues with anxiety that going to church was hard for her. Her husband didn't understand at all, and she was so worried that she was the only one suffering. She cried on the phone as we talked about it because she was so relieved that someone understood.
You guys. It is sad and heartbreaking that people don't feel safe discussing this issue. That we are considered weak. Trust me, we're not. As often as I've complained that I *feel* weak, I'm smart enough to know that because I'm still here, still fighting, and still attempting to be the best mom I can be, that I'm NOT weak.
And hey, dr. laura? I am so very, very angry at you for convincing my mother that my illness is made-up by big pharma to sell more drugs. Thanks for that. Means a lot. (Nope, not capitalizing your name.)
What I am saying is that having a mental illness makes me determined to be open, to talk about it, to discuss what I go through.
Well, ok, I process externally so I tend to type up most everything I'm feeling anyway. Once I hit the 'publish' button and send it out into the nether to be read or ignored, the thoughts are no longer bouncing around inside my head.
Talking about the onset of my BiPolar Type 2 / BiPolar Depression, Anxiety, Psyche Ward stay, visits with my psychiatrist, and suicide attempt, are ways for me to cope. So really, this blog and my posts aren't honestly for anyone else; it's to help me process.
So why do I make it public instead of private? Because communicating is sooooo helpful. I'm a little strange that way.
I have found that most others who struggle with the same thing or different variations of these illnesses feel that there isn't anyone who understands.
Do you know why they feel that way? Because people who have never had clinical depression or anxiety have NO IDEA what it is like. I know this, because I'd never, ever, ever had it, nor understood it until I went through post-partum depression after my son was born. Two years of post-partum. That sucked. It was wonderful when that was over!!
The year I turned 40, the mad chemist experimenting inside my brain decided to switch things up on a more permanent basis. This sudden onset was/is not a pleasant one. I say sudden because I was privileged to live most of my life of working and having babies with a normal, healthy, robust amount of energy. I have met and know several people who have struggled with depression their entire lives.
THEIR ENTIRE LIVES!!
I cannot even comprehend living with this, trying to manage this while working - sometimes two jobs - finishing my degrees, and having small children.
These folks do it silently, with few people who understand, listen, or help when needed. They struggle with adulting while dealing with the guilt of not being capable of basic things when it's a really bad day.
They are heroes in my eyes. Do you hear me? HEROES!!!
I fell apart after a year and needed to be hospitalized. I was trying to claw the skin off my face because the pain was the only thing connecting me to reality. After another year, I really did attempt suicide. Coping with the onset of anxiety along with the depression was simply too much. TWO YEARS. Two years, and I couldn't handle it. Still am attempting to manage it.
So these folks who've lived with it for their whole lives? HEROES. I'm not even kidding.
Some are absolutely ashamed to talk about their mental health or their hospitalizations. Some simply cannot admit that there is an issue because they feel like they should be able to control it.
--- This one was me. I spent a good six or seven months convinced it was some sort of early menopause. My doctor ran just about every blood test possible, checking my hormone levels, my thyroid, the levels of vitamins and minerals in my system, etc. I was convinced that I could talk myself out of it or fix it with every naturepathic or homeopathic strategy I knew.
Nope. Depression. After three or four months of therapy and some low doses of temporary meds, diagnosed with BiPolar depression. No more temporary meds for me. Mood stabilizers AND anti-depressants with some Xanex on the side became necessary. In spite of every alternative health trick I knew. Wahoo. Boy, that went over well with my family. NOT. ---
I need you to realize that some cannot talk about it openly because of private personal reasons. And others simply don't feel safe discussing it with anyone.
This one right there? This is horrible and awful and sooo lonely. Understandable, though, because of the prevalent attitude. You know, the one saying that people who are depressed are using it as an excuse to be lazy. Should just cheer themselves up and get over it. Or claiming anxiety to get out of doing something they just didn't want to do.
*frustrated sigh*
I am one of the very few willing to talk openly about my experiences, my honest thoughts, or the massive grumpy days I have. Currently I have been in a horrible mood for nearly two weeks. Everyone frustrates me, I feel like they're all jerks and inconsiderate. Most of that is me, I know, but it's how I'm feeling.
Logic part of my brain says "don't interact with people right now. At least not the ones you love. Just hug them tight and keep your mouth shut. You get paid to be nice to people at work, so the pretend happy face works there. Wish you could keep pretending at home."
Illogical part of my brain says, "Who cares. Everyone can just go to hell. I want to move and live by myself out in the boonies where I don't have to see anyone, hear anyone, or have anyone getting into my stuff, move it around, break it, or whatever else is making me feel picked on."
Am I ashamed of these thoughts? Well, if I were, I wouldn't be typing them up here. Do I wish I could turn them off? oh yeah.
What I *can* do about these feelings that I cannot control is try to interrupt the tape. I kiss on of my kids' neck up and down until they giggle like mad. Or hug them tight for several minutes. I read out loud. I do anything I can to distract myself and concentrate on anything BUT the thoughts and feelings.
You who don't know Depression don't have a clue how hard it is to have to continue to interrupt these stupid stupid destructive thoughts that run in a loop.
Depression LIES, but it is oh so believable.
I need you to understand this. Those of us who struggle with Depression have our super awful bad days. It's such a fight to get out of bed. And some days that's the only battle we win. If our sinks are full of dishes, the floors not swept or vacuumed, it doesn't mean we don't care about living in a yucky environment. Oh, trust me, we care very much.
A depressive's messy house means one of two things: 1 - There are a bunch of kids living there and it's laughable to even think of summoning the energy to reinforce daily chores.
2 - Looking at the mess and seeing all that needs to be done is overwhelming. Knowing where to start is simply impossible and makes us cry. Summoning the energy to pick up a pair of socks and carry it to the laundry basket is hopeless.We feel guilty and horrible because any normal human being should be able to do something so simple. So we sit and stare at those socks and wish we could do it, wondering what the hell is wrong with us that we can't even do that simple little thing.
And anxiety? It's the weight of an elephant sitting on your chest, the pain of drawing in a breath, panic caused by ... ?? something?? People? some thought? Noise? What the heck triggered this?? And then can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe, curling up, shaking, then sobbing uncontrollably for AN HOUR!!
Ok? YOU PEOPLE WHO HAVE NEVER EVER EVER IN YOUR LIFE EXPERIENCED THIS?? Shut up about us folks with these types of mental illness being lazy. Just stop it. Right now.
This is real. I struggle with this.
I am not ashamed of the symptoms of this illness because they're real. Are you ashamed for having a runny nose when you have a cold? Or a raspy voice when you have a bronchial infection? I'm not proud of my symptoms; oh, they are so very frustrating.
Trust me, I'll tell you up front if I'm being lazy about cleaning, or just can't do it. Believe it or not, I DO recognize the difference. One involves the inability to summon motivation and energy. The other is simply not wanting to do it.
When I don't want to do work I hear my grandmother's or my mother's voice telling me "Sometimes you just have to do what you don't want to do."
Being incapable of doing the work means having to tell those voices to shut the hell up, because ranting at myself won't help me feel any better. It certainly won't make the weight of the world go away or prevent the fog of darkness from jumbling my thoughts so I can't concentrate.
Do you understand? This is my reality.
I have received so many messages, emails, phone calls, and visits from people who just wanted to talk about their struggles. Who couldn't believe that I'd talk openly - in church, for crying out loud, or on Facebook - about my constant fight. One woman was having such issues with anxiety that going to church was hard for her. Her husband didn't understand at all, and she was so worried that she was the only one suffering. She cried on the phone as we talked about it because she was so relieved that someone understood.
You guys. It is sad and heartbreaking that people don't feel safe discussing this issue. That we are considered weak. Trust me, we're not. As often as I've complained that I *feel* weak, I'm smart enough to know that because I'm still here, still fighting, and still attempting to be the best mom I can be, that I'm NOT weak.
And hey, dr. laura? I am so very, very angry at you for convincing my mother that my illness is made-up by big pharma to sell more drugs. Thanks for that. Means a lot. (Nope, not capitalizing your name.)
Saturday, December 12, 2015
Um, Thanks?
I speak openly about my struggles with depression and anxiety.
Adjusting to the changes in my physical chemistry has seen me throwing temper tantrums, anger at God, anger at the physical imperfections in this body, grief at the loss of control, frustration at the new obstacles in my path and at having to re-train my brain for a new thinking process, acceptance and a determination to see this through, regressions and despair, hope and strength. I am a living dichotomy of emotions.
I have my ups which are awesome. When the meds are working, my thought processes are in line, and I'm not listening to the depressive rhetoric that pops up. I can take on the world and manage those mean curve balls that life throws.
Yes, I'm clarifying that when my meds are working, I can think better. Meds work for me. I need people to understand that.
No, The meds do not solve all of my problems. I am not magically cured. I still have to control my thoughts, my attitude, and the crazy difficulties of life. It is my responsibility to see when I'm getting overwhelmed or over-extending myself, which is a trigger for a down.
But it bares repeating: The medicine takes the heavy weight of the air, the dark fog that surrounds me, and lightens it, letting the sun through.
I have my downs - my fairly severe downs. I'm openly blunt about when I am having issues with contemplating suicide. This is one of my safety mechanisms. If I *tell* people I'm thinking about it, it means I'm not *doing* it. It means I'm putting myself out there so I can make use of the awesome support system of friends and family that I have.
I see a psychiatrist. I take meds. I communicate - or try to.
A doctor's visit does not an immediate fix make. The nail has not been removed from my forehead - I am trying to remove it, but it is a slow, slow, slow process.
So that's where I'm at.
Hugs, happy thoughts, commiseration, encouragement are all part of what keeps me going when I can't find the strength to want to keep fighting. But I am here. I continue to go to work. I continue to get out of bed, breathe in and out, giggle with my kids, and help them try to enjoy their childhood. I fight.
If this warrior spirit within me wasn't working overtime, I wouldn't still be here.
*sigh*
After yesterday's FB post and admission of my anxiety regression, the offers and suggestions have been rolling in. All of the helpful hints, links, cd's, books, supplements, food additives, whatever, that I have been inundated with in the past 24 hours are extremely overwhelming. I'm almost sorry that I admitted just how bad this recent low is.
It feels like people are saying, "You can't possibly be trying hard enough to be ok. You need to do THIS."
I'm still struggling to want to be here. I still feel wounded and vulnerable. Enough that it kind of hurts to have all of the 'do this! do that! Try this!' thrown at me.
Kind of hurts? no. Let me be honest here. Hurts enough that I was extremely angry or insulted every time I logged onto facebook and had a new message. Anger is so much easier to feel than hurt. I felt attacked or that I was not good enough.
Should people apologize for offering help? Good heavens, no. Should they be worried about offending me? Again, NO. My emotional armor is fairly non-existent right now, but it'll grow back. Walking on egg shells around me would just piss me off even more.
*I* am responsible for how I feel.
Just saying that right now, offers of help feel painful. Why? Because it's a reinforcement that I can't take care of myself all the way. Does that mean folks shouldn't offer help? NO!!! I NEED help.
My emotional reactions don't make a whole lot of sense right now. It's just part of where I'm at. I hope that I've been polite and grateful in my responses. I recognize that my gut reaction is rude and off-putting, so while I'll discuss it's existence here, I certainly won't act on it.
Logically, I know that people care and are trying to help.
I'm open minded enough that I will try stuff if I feel good about trying it. Not today, though. Nor tomorrow or next week while I'm working on the challenge to discard and throw out things that are overwhelming - self-imposed or otherwise.
I love and appreciate everyone who has been so loving and supportive.
Just, please keep in mind that if I'm not super excited about what is being offered, it's because I'm going to have to take some time to be ready to hear, read, listen, eat, or add to my med regimen.
I'm overwhelmed by the basics right now. Let me get that part figured out and the willingness to try new things will be back.
Adjusting to the changes in my physical chemistry has seen me throwing temper tantrums, anger at God, anger at the physical imperfections in this body, grief at the loss of control, frustration at the new obstacles in my path and at having to re-train my brain for a new thinking process, acceptance and a determination to see this through, regressions and despair, hope and strength. I am a living dichotomy of emotions.
I have my ups which are awesome. When the meds are working, my thought processes are in line, and I'm not listening to the depressive rhetoric that pops up. I can take on the world and manage those mean curve balls that life throws.
Yes, I'm clarifying that when my meds are working, I can think better. Meds work for me. I need people to understand that.
No, The meds do not solve all of my problems. I am not magically cured. I still have to control my thoughts, my attitude, and the crazy difficulties of life. It is my responsibility to see when I'm getting overwhelmed or over-extending myself, which is a trigger for a down.
But it bares repeating: The medicine takes the heavy weight of the air, the dark fog that surrounds me, and lightens it, letting the sun through.
I have my downs - my fairly severe downs. I'm openly blunt about when I am having issues with contemplating suicide. This is one of my safety mechanisms. If I *tell* people I'm thinking about it, it means I'm not *doing* it. It means I'm putting myself out there so I can make use of the awesome support system of friends and family that I have.
I see a psychiatrist. I take meds. I communicate - or try to.
A doctor's visit does not an immediate fix make. The nail has not been removed from my forehead - I am trying to remove it, but it is a slow, slow, slow process.
So that's where I'm at.
Hugs, happy thoughts, commiseration, encouragement are all part of what keeps me going when I can't find the strength to want to keep fighting. But I am here. I continue to go to work. I continue to get out of bed, breathe in and out, giggle with my kids, and help them try to enjoy their childhood. I fight.
If this warrior spirit within me wasn't working overtime, I wouldn't still be here.
*sigh*
After yesterday's FB post and admission of my anxiety regression, the offers and suggestions have been rolling in. All of the helpful hints, links, cd's, books, supplements, food additives, whatever, that I have been inundated with in the past 24 hours are extremely overwhelming. I'm almost sorry that I admitted just how bad this recent low is.
It feels like people are saying, "You can't possibly be trying hard enough to be ok. You need to do THIS."
I'm still struggling to want to be here. I still feel wounded and vulnerable. Enough that it kind of hurts to have all of the 'do this! do that! Try this!' thrown at me.
Kind of hurts? no. Let me be honest here. Hurts enough that I was extremely angry or insulted every time I logged onto facebook and had a new message. Anger is so much easier to feel than hurt. I felt attacked or that I was not good enough.
Should people apologize for offering help? Good heavens, no. Should they be worried about offending me? Again, NO. My emotional armor is fairly non-existent right now, but it'll grow back. Walking on egg shells around me would just piss me off even more.
*I* am responsible for how I feel.
Just saying that right now, offers of help feel painful. Why? Because it's a reinforcement that I can't take care of myself all the way. Does that mean folks shouldn't offer help? NO!!! I NEED help.
My emotional reactions don't make a whole lot of sense right now. It's just part of where I'm at. I hope that I've been polite and grateful in my responses. I recognize that my gut reaction is rude and off-putting, so while I'll discuss it's existence here, I certainly won't act on it.
Logically, I know that people care and are trying to help.
I'm open minded enough that I will try stuff if I feel good about trying it. Not today, though. Nor tomorrow or next week while I'm working on the challenge to discard and throw out things that are overwhelming - self-imposed or otherwise.
Just, please keep in mind that if I'm not super excited about what is being offered, it's because I'm going to have to take some time to be ready to hear, read, listen, eat, or add to my med regimen.
I'm overwhelmed by the basics right now. Let me get that part figured out and the willingness to try new things will be back.
Thursday, December 10, 2015
An Hour And Two Xanex Later
(note: some hard truths about teenage kid here. You don't get to give her lectures if you know her. this is about me, not about making her life harder than it already is.)
I have been in a pretty steady decline for a few weeks. Last Friday I very badly wanted to walk that long walk and go for a late-night swim in the Great Salt Lake. (Note, it was about 30 degrees at the time).
I was a good girl and went home. Texted a couple of friends and told them I was having real struggles. Spent a lot of this week venting and trying to work through my thoughts with a very good friend.
Saw my psychiatrist today. I had my husband come in and give him an outside perspective, I felt it was needed.
My meds have been upped. I have been challenged to identify all the stressors in my life that are making me feel overwhelmed and out of control. Also to be honest about the self-imposed expectations that I can't live up to, face them, and let them go.
A lot of that includes delegating to my kids.
The worst part of this decline is that my anxiety is back to full blast.
Tonight when my kids wouldn't quiet down when I asked them, when my teenager wouldn't stop arguing with me or demanding that I defend every opinion or statement I made, when I couldn't find the right words to help my 8 yr old with her stupid (yes, STUPID) division homework, I lost it.
I rocked in my bed and sobbed for an entire hour. Couldn't stop. Texted my 20yr old daughter and told her to call her teenage sister and make her stop fighting with her siblings. Get them to calm down, shut up, and play together. They were quiet for like 5 minutes. Then began yelling at each other to shut up.
I know kids need to rough-house. I know they have a right to play. And they needed to take it down to the basement where I couldn't hear them.
Sob, sob, sob.
MP3 player on. Turned up LOUD. Gonna be deaf in a few years, but I don't care. It shut out the noise. That helped. still couldn't stop sobbing.
I swear it felt like it took forever for the xanex to work.
My 11 yr old brought me a chocolate chip cookie. Chocolate is always good.
Then she got the brush and started smoothly brushing my scalp. then did a scalp massage. Fifteen minutes after that (an entire hour of sobbing. I cannot even believe this.) I stopped sniffling and could breath.
Not gonna lie, I still feel like there is an elephant sitting on my chest. I still feel like any little thing will set it off. Have my earphones in still, even though the little ones have gone to bed. Asked my kids to please clean up their craft mess in the living room because if I looked at it I would start crying again. In fact, almost started again just asking them to take care of it.
My 11yo explained the math homework to her little sister. The 7yo pulled out his Lego's and sat and played quietly. The teenager made dinner for the little ones. The mom breathed in and out.
and right now? Right now I don't want to talk to my teen who is still awake. I completely understand that 15yo's are gonna be the way they're gonna be. I was one, once. I'm not going to deal with it anymore today. I just can't. If that makes me a bad mom for being frustrated with it, then so be it. It's simply the way it is today.
I have communicated with the kids that my mental state is bad right now. They have seen that there are very real consequences, whether they understand them or not, when they don't listen to me when I tell them that I cannot handle their behavior and they need to move it or stop it.
the little ones were all a-hug. all worried. The big kid just said, "Hi" when I finally came out of my room, able to handle the open spaces of the house again. Hi. In that obstinant way that only a 15 yr old can.
*sigh*
I love my kids. I am so proud of them. But wow, the teenage days are a very real pain.
I'm not going to feel guilty for being angry at the attitude.
My mental health is what it is, like it or not. I am fighting. I am trying to cope and fix it and improve. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have gone to the doctor. I wouldn't be communicating with friends and saying, hey, I'm having issues.
I wouldn't be here if I wasn't fighting. I'd be done and gone.
I can't do that, though. Much as I really, really, really want to escape the pain and the hard right now. Oh it's so hard. But my kids need me. They need their foundation to stick around so they don't have permanent trauma the rest of their lives. Right now knowing that is what's keeping me communicating and trying. Eventually when I get to a better place I'll have a better attitude about being needed. Right now, I honestly resent it. that's the horrible, honest truth.
So. anxiety attacks, depression so bad that suicide is on my mind a lot right now, and a family full of young children who are loud, rambunctious, and energetic. Not exactly an easy combination. What God was thinking, sending my six children, I don't know. But it is what it is.
I can do this, dammit. I can delegate a lot of the hard, I can find some order. I can find some joy. Even if it's small, it's still do-able.
Right now? Right now after that xanex and crying jag, the with this dumb weight still on my lungs, I am going to go lose myself in World of Warcraft for a few hours. Because I can. Because the house is finally calm and quiet and safe. Because I need to shut my brain off so it can unscramble.
Anxiety is no fun, folks. It's real. If you don't understand it, don't judge it. It's not like it's controllable. The beginning signs are there and steps can be taken to ward it off, but sometimes it just happens anyway.
I have been in a pretty steady decline for a few weeks. Last Friday I very badly wanted to walk that long walk and go for a late-night swim in the Great Salt Lake. (Note, it was about 30 degrees at the time).
I was a good girl and went home. Texted a couple of friends and told them I was having real struggles. Spent a lot of this week venting and trying to work through my thoughts with a very good friend.
Saw my psychiatrist today. I had my husband come in and give him an outside perspective, I felt it was needed.
My meds have been upped. I have been challenged to identify all the stressors in my life that are making me feel overwhelmed and out of control. Also to be honest about the self-imposed expectations that I can't live up to, face them, and let them go.
A lot of that includes delegating to my kids.
The worst part of this decline is that my anxiety is back to full blast.
Tonight when my kids wouldn't quiet down when I asked them, when my teenager wouldn't stop arguing with me or demanding that I defend every opinion or statement I made, when I couldn't find the right words to help my 8 yr old with her stupid (yes, STUPID) division homework, I lost it.
I rocked in my bed and sobbed for an entire hour. Couldn't stop. Texted my 20yr old daughter and told her to call her teenage sister and make her stop fighting with her siblings. Get them to calm down, shut up, and play together. They were quiet for like 5 minutes. Then began yelling at each other to shut up.
I know kids need to rough-house. I know they have a right to play. And they needed to take it down to the basement where I couldn't hear them.
Sob, sob, sob.
MP3 player on. Turned up LOUD. Gonna be deaf in a few years, but I don't care. It shut out the noise. That helped. still couldn't stop sobbing.
I swear it felt like it took forever for the xanex to work.
My 11 yr old brought me a chocolate chip cookie. Chocolate is always good.
Then she got the brush and started smoothly brushing my scalp. then did a scalp massage. Fifteen minutes after that (an entire hour of sobbing. I cannot even believe this.) I stopped sniffling and could breath.
Not gonna lie, I still feel like there is an elephant sitting on my chest. I still feel like any little thing will set it off. Have my earphones in still, even though the little ones have gone to bed. Asked my kids to please clean up their craft mess in the living room because if I looked at it I would start crying again. In fact, almost started again just asking them to take care of it.
My 11yo explained the math homework to her little sister. The 7yo pulled out his Lego's and sat and played quietly. The teenager made dinner for the little ones. The mom breathed in and out.
and right now? Right now I don't want to talk to my teen who is still awake. I completely understand that 15yo's are gonna be the way they're gonna be. I was one, once. I'm not going to deal with it anymore today. I just can't. If that makes me a bad mom for being frustrated with it, then so be it. It's simply the way it is today.
I have communicated with the kids that my mental state is bad right now. They have seen that there are very real consequences, whether they understand them or not, when they don't listen to me when I tell them that I cannot handle their behavior and they need to move it or stop it.
the little ones were all a-hug. all worried. The big kid just said, "Hi" when I finally came out of my room, able to handle the open spaces of the house again. Hi. In that obstinant way that only a 15 yr old can.
*sigh*
I love my kids. I am so proud of them. But wow, the teenage days are a very real pain.
I'm not going to feel guilty for being angry at the attitude.
My mental health is what it is, like it or not. I am fighting. I am trying to cope and fix it and improve. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have gone to the doctor. I wouldn't be communicating with friends and saying, hey, I'm having issues.
I wouldn't be here if I wasn't fighting. I'd be done and gone.
I can't do that, though. Much as I really, really, really want to escape the pain and the hard right now. Oh it's so hard. But my kids need me. They need their foundation to stick around so they don't have permanent trauma the rest of their lives. Right now knowing that is what's keeping me communicating and trying. Eventually when I get to a better place I'll have a better attitude about being needed. Right now, I honestly resent it. that's the horrible, honest truth.
So. anxiety attacks, depression so bad that suicide is on my mind a lot right now, and a family full of young children who are loud, rambunctious, and energetic. Not exactly an easy combination. What God was thinking, sending my six children, I don't know. But it is what it is.
I can do this, dammit. I can delegate a lot of the hard, I can find some order. I can find some joy. Even if it's small, it's still do-able.
Right now? Right now after that xanex and crying jag, the with this dumb weight still on my lungs, I am going to go lose myself in World of Warcraft for a few hours. Because I can. Because the house is finally calm and quiet and safe. Because I need to shut my brain off so it can unscramble.
Anxiety is no fun, folks. It's real. If you don't understand it, don't judge it. It's not like it's controllable. The beginning signs are there and steps can be taken to ward it off, but sometimes it just happens anyway.
Thursday, December 3, 2015
Who's That Girl?
I looked in the mirror and did not recognize the face staring back at me.
I knew the eyes. Those dark brown eyes flecked with green, yeah, those were mine. The eyes that see too much, sparkle with mischief, feel the weight of the world, love much, and blink back the pain. Yes, those were my eyes, but the shape is off.
The rest of the face and hair and stuff? Who IS that person?
There have been times in my life when I look in the mirror and don't like who I see. That's usually my first indication that I'm struggling with Depression with a decidedly capital D.
But this feeling that I'm wearing a shell? That's new. I've made the analogy a lot over the past couple of years that I feel trapped in my head. And yes, I know I'm aging - thus feeling like my body has outlasted all of its warranties and is decaying all around me comes part and parcel with that. But this is more than that.
I feel like I'm stuck in someone else's skin.
The hair is unruly. It can't be my hair. I know how my hair behaves when I run a brush through it vs when I've slept on it. I know how it behaves wet, with product, or without product. Not this hair. This hair does things I've never seen it do. This hair curls more, parts on either side of my head, and does the complete wrong thing when I brush it. There's no rich dark brown anymore. The texture is completely foreign, and I don't know how to manage it.
The color and texture of the hair, though, that's me getting old. Of course I'm graying. I've earned every gray hair that I have. I know that I have graying hair. I just don't recognize it.
The face? Now that's where I get completely lost.
I always loved my cheekbones. Also loved the shape of my ears. Didn't think much about my nose except to note that I had one and it had blackheads but otherwise it was a nose, found my lips interesting, and was glad my chin didn't have a dimple. Always hated the perpetual double-chin hiding in the wings, waiting for me to lower my head and turn into a frog. I never once used an eyebrow pencil and only used mascara if eyeshadow powdered my lashes into looking lighter. There was always a patch of acne in one spot or another waiting to bloom, and then there was that sign of... life? spark? glow? that gave away the multitude of thoughts going on behind my face.
That's me. That's always how I've pictured myself.
This face, I don't know who I am looking at. It doesn't have that same glow. Where'd the acne go? But more than that, where did the shape go? It's not the same shape.
It has a red nose and red circles on the cheeks like a painted china doll. Or Rudolph. Or an alcoholic. I'm not even sure if those cherry spots on my cheeks demarcate the cheek bones. The overall pallor is gray. It matches the hair. The double-chin is more than just a hint, and are those my lips? I guess they are, but are they? The eyebrows and eyelashes are graying; the eye lashes require mascara in order to be visible.
I have never, ever, EVER *required* mascara!! And where did the elvish hint in my eyebrows go??
But it's more than the changes due to aging. Its the fact that I feel surprised every time I look in a mirror. Who IS that person? What is going on behind those eyes? What are they hiding? Where did they put the person who belongs there? The Aura is completely different. This has to be some nightmare.
When my doctor first began trying different medications a couple of years ago, the wrong meds would leave me with the feeling that my skin didn't fit.
This isn't that feeling. In fact, sitting here staring at my computer monitor feels completely normal. I'm wearing my favorite pajama bottoms and USMC hoodie. My toes are cold because they're always cold. I feel like me.
I've acclimated to the "this knee is sore today" and the "Oh, it's gonna snow, the arthritis where my elbow broke is acting up" and the "Now what did I do to that ankle??" pops, zings of pain, and general I'm-getting-older limps and feels.
I've ... um... well, not *adjusted* to the anxiety and dizzy spells and other things associated with my mental disorder and side-effects of my drugs, but I have learned to identify them and cope.
So how I *feel* on the inside still feels like me. You know, angry that my brain is having the hiccups, joyful and full of grattitude for the blessings in my life, singing because I can, snarking because I can, being silly because I can. etc. It's my brain, I am quirky.
But how I look? I mean, seriously, that can't be me. It just can't.
Do I actually look like that? Have I always had "resting bitch face"??? Even putting jewelry on doesn't conjure up 14 yr old me wearing a new pair of earrings and feeling pretty because of some shiny cheap metal I bought for a dollar at the gas station.
So who is this girl? Who is that girl in the mirror?
Is this what it feels like to age? You're you on the inside, but the outside no longer matches?
I knew the eyes. Those dark brown eyes flecked with green, yeah, those were mine. The eyes that see too much, sparkle with mischief, feel the weight of the world, love much, and blink back the pain. Yes, those were my eyes, but the shape is off.
The rest of the face and hair and stuff? Who IS that person?
There have been times in my life when I look in the mirror and don't like who I see. That's usually my first indication that I'm struggling with Depression with a decidedly capital D.
But this feeling that I'm wearing a shell? That's new. I've made the analogy a lot over the past couple of years that I feel trapped in my head. And yes, I know I'm aging - thus feeling like my body has outlasted all of its warranties and is decaying all around me comes part and parcel with that. But this is more than that.
I feel like I'm stuck in someone else's skin.
The hair is unruly. It can't be my hair. I know how my hair behaves when I run a brush through it vs when I've slept on it. I know how it behaves wet, with product, or without product. Not this hair. This hair does things I've never seen it do. This hair curls more, parts on either side of my head, and does the complete wrong thing when I brush it. There's no rich dark brown anymore. The texture is completely foreign, and I don't know how to manage it.
The color and texture of the hair, though, that's me getting old. Of course I'm graying. I've earned every gray hair that I have. I know that I have graying hair. I just don't recognize it.
The face? Now that's where I get completely lost.
I always loved my cheekbones. Also loved the shape of my ears. Didn't think much about my nose except to note that I had one and it had blackheads but otherwise it was a nose, found my lips interesting, and was glad my chin didn't have a dimple. Always hated the perpetual double-chin hiding in the wings, waiting for me to lower my head and turn into a frog. I never once used an eyebrow pencil and only used mascara if eyeshadow powdered my lashes into looking lighter. There was always a patch of acne in one spot or another waiting to bloom, and then there was that sign of... life? spark? glow? that gave away the multitude of thoughts going on behind my face.
That's me. That's always how I've pictured myself.
This face, I don't know who I am looking at. It doesn't have that same glow. Where'd the acne go? But more than that, where did the shape go? It's not the same shape.
It has a red nose and red circles on the cheeks like a painted china doll. Or Rudolph. Or an alcoholic. I'm not even sure if those cherry spots on my cheeks demarcate the cheek bones. The overall pallor is gray. It matches the hair. The double-chin is more than just a hint, and are those my lips? I guess they are, but are they? The eyebrows and eyelashes are graying; the eye lashes require mascara in order to be visible.
I have never, ever, EVER *required* mascara!! And where did the elvish hint in my eyebrows go??
But it's more than the changes due to aging. Its the fact that I feel surprised every time I look in a mirror. Who IS that person? What is going on behind those eyes? What are they hiding? Where did they put the person who belongs there? The Aura is completely different. This has to be some nightmare.
When my doctor first began trying different medications a couple of years ago, the wrong meds would leave me with the feeling that my skin didn't fit.
This isn't that feeling. In fact, sitting here staring at my computer monitor feels completely normal. I'm wearing my favorite pajama bottoms and USMC hoodie. My toes are cold because they're always cold. I feel like me.
I've acclimated to the "this knee is sore today" and the "Oh, it's gonna snow, the arthritis where my elbow broke is acting up" and the "Now what did I do to that ankle??" pops, zings of pain, and general I'm-getting-older limps and feels.
I've ... um... well, not *adjusted* to the anxiety and dizzy spells and other things associated with my mental disorder and side-effects of my drugs, but I have learned to identify them and cope.
So how I *feel* on the inside still feels like me. You know, angry that my brain is having the hiccups, joyful and full of grattitude for the blessings in my life, singing because I can, snarking because I can, being silly because I can. etc. It's my brain, I am quirky.
But how I look? I mean, seriously, that can't be me. It just can't.
Do I actually look like that? Have I always had "resting bitch face"??? Even putting jewelry on doesn't conjure up 14 yr old me wearing a new pair of earrings and feeling pretty because of some shiny cheap metal I bought for a dollar at the gas station.
So who is this girl? Who is that girl in the mirror?
Is this what it feels like to age? You're you on the inside, but the outside no longer matches?
Thursday, November 5, 2015
Feeling Vulnerable
Ok. I *think* I have our insurance premium fiasco figured out after talking from person to person to person. Now, I just have to get Rob's HR to cooperate. Then maybe we can pay rent ON TIME and catch up on all the other bills. Like all y'all wanted to know our financial woes. Everyone has them, we aren't any different from anyone else.
I don't even know why I'm sharing this. It's been so frustrating having half the amount we thought we'd have every two weeks. It's not like I expect insurance to be handed to us for free. I am all for working for and earning what we have. The cost is so overwhelming, though.
My faith encourages us to have 3 months of savings on hand for emergencies. And we DID. That's the most frustrating thing. We used it all over the summer for *that* emergency. And we had this complete miracle happen in August and September to help us stay on our feet. So it's not like I don't see the miracles happening in our lives every day. I am extremely grateful that we are taken care of even when we don't know how things are going to work out.
I know we'll make it through this, but wow this particular trial is hard. However, Rob has his meds and they are affordable. The kids have insurance in case they are sick. Our homeowners are FABULOUS about working with our situation, but after our fiasco five years ago, keeping a roof over our heads is my biggest priority and biggest fear. It's not like we're *behind* on rent, because we're not. I just hate paying it in installments during the month instead of one lump some as agreed.
Somehow I'll get *my* medical bills taken care of from that ER visit when we were sure I was having a stroke. My meds are affordable. I have an awesome psychiatrist who I love and who checks in with me to make sure I'm stable and doing ok. We have a fabulous pediatrician for the kids and a wonderful GP for the rest of us.
I have great friends. Some days it's really hard not to worry, though. It's hard to acknowledge that some bills are behind. I hate playing catch-up with electricity, phone, gas, cable. Yes, cable. Since Jada does online school for her core classes, internet IS a necessity, not just a luxury.
I don't know why I feel like I have to justify our choices. I feel extremely vulnerable today. Probably because of yesterday's missed meds. I'm also feeling extremely grateful for the people willing to help us. The folks who said they'd call Rob's HR on our behalf for the insurance stuff. The people who let me cry because I'm stressed over things I cannot control but affect my life.
The good people who love us no matter what.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Religion, Rebellion and Anger
I am a deeply religious person. I have quite a few friends who feel that it's an outdated superstition, an organized political 'lead the unthinking sheep to follow whatever I say' kind of thing, or just a horrible idea altogether. And that's okay. Whatever works for them and brings them peace is awesome. My faith and my religion work for me. Today, for some strange, stupid reason I feel like talking about it.
This is seriously one of my most tender, vulnerable spots, and I have no idea WHY I am talking about it here. A place the entire world can see it, mock it, ridicule it, or whatever. But here it is nonetheless. Call it a crazy chemical bi-polar compulsion? I don't know how else to understand why I am sitting here typing this up on Blogger.
I don't normally talk about this kind of thing, but today... Today I've been two days without my medication. I forgot to fill it Wednesday before my insurance stopped. And I forgot to fill it Friday, the day I ran out, then Saturday because I was distracted by walking home in the rain, and then Sunday - well, today I didn't forget, it was just Sunday and my pharmacy is closed. I refuse to go to Walgreens; they always screw up, they're rude, and I much prefer my pharmacy where they know me by name, are friendly, go to bat for my kids when there are insurance screw-ups, and they take the time to treat me like a human.
... I digress.
I'm super distractable today.
Anyway.
Because it's been two days without my anti-depressant, today was a bad day. A sobby, unstable, doggy-paddle like mad to keep my head above water day. A day that I couldn't wake up fully in between very vivid nightmares until I HAD to go to work. And even then I was/am dizzy and distracted and... well... attempting very hard via Xanex and mood stabilizer to appear normal to the world.
Again, ANYWAY...
On the way to work, I had a conversation with God. I don't know if I was feeling guilty? I don't know a lot of things today, but I know this:
I know He loves me. I know he understands and knows what I am going through. I know that He hasn't forgotten me. I know He has a hand in everything going on in my life, putting people in place to support me when I can't deal on my own, cheering me on when I succeed, and loving me anyway when I am rebellious.
And oh am I rebellious some days.
And I am angry. So angry that on some days - like today - I want to turn in my temple recommend and scream and rail and say I HATE YOU!!! I HATE THIS! MAKE IT STOP ALREADY!
I do not like being mentally ill. I do not like not being in control of my emotions. I do not like that I have to take a xanex to handle little kids screaming in the store.
I am angry that I have to remind myself to breathe over one simple little mistake - regardless of what it is. Forgetting to sign a permission slip. Forgetting to have my son read. Not seeing a customer at the fitting room in time for me to count their clothes on their way out. (It's an anti-theft policy and I am far from perfect some days)
I'm especially angry right now that He didn't let me come home in April.
This is seriously one of my most tender, vulnerable spots, and I have no idea WHY I am talking about it here. A place the entire world can see it, mock it, ridicule it, or whatever. But here it is nonetheless. Call it a crazy chemical bi-polar compulsion? I don't know how else to understand why I am sitting here typing this up on Blogger.
I don't normally talk about this kind of thing, but today... Today I've been two days without my medication. I forgot to fill it Wednesday before my insurance stopped. And I forgot to fill it Friday, the day I ran out, then Saturday because I was distracted by walking home in the rain, and then Sunday - well, today I didn't forget, it was just Sunday and my pharmacy is closed. I refuse to go to Walgreens; they always screw up, they're rude, and I much prefer my pharmacy where they know me by name, are friendly, go to bat for my kids when there are insurance screw-ups, and they take the time to treat me like a human.
... I digress.
I'm super distractable today.
Anyway.
Because it's been two days without my anti-depressant, today was a bad day. A sobby, unstable, doggy-paddle like mad to keep my head above water day. A day that I couldn't wake up fully in between very vivid nightmares until I HAD to go to work. And even then I was/am dizzy and distracted and... well... attempting very hard via Xanex and mood stabilizer to appear normal to the world.
Again, ANYWAY...
On the way to work, I had a conversation with God. I don't know if I was feeling guilty? I don't know a lot of things today, but I know this:
I know He loves me. I know he understands and knows what I am going through. I know that He hasn't forgotten me. I know He has a hand in everything going on in my life, putting people in place to support me when I can't deal on my own, cheering me on when I succeed, and loving me anyway when I am rebellious.
And oh am I rebellious some days.
And I am angry. So angry that on some days - like today - I want to turn in my temple recommend and scream and rail and say I HATE YOU!!! I HATE THIS! MAKE IT STOP ALREADY!
I do not like being mentally ill. I do not like not being in control of my emotions. I do not like that I have to take a xanex to handle little kids screaming in the store.
I am angry that I have to remind myself to breathe over one simple little mistake - regardless of what it is. Forgetting to sign a permission slip. Forgetting to have my son read. Not seeing a customer at the fitting room in time for me to count their clothes on their way out. (It's an anti-theft policy and I am far from perfect some days)
I'm especially angry right now that He didn't let me come home in April.
Friday, October 2, 2015
the Semi-Colon
I sent someone a sketch of my current semi-colon tat idea. She mentioned that someone she knew was going to get one 'because they're cool,' which offended her. It kind of offends me, too, to be honest.
Sure it's showing support for mental illness. However, "Because it's cool" doesn't sound like understanding the whole reason behind the semi-colon. It feels like the bandwagon is taking something deeply personal and making it a commonplace cliche.
But I'm old and practicallyyelling "GET OFF MY LAWN" to all the young folk.
Besides, just because it means something to me, doesn't mean that someone else can't love the look and want one. It **really** shouldn't bother me how other people treat symbols. It's a punctuation mark, for crying out loud.
Maybe it's because April is not so far in the past, and that experience is still somewhat fresh? Maybe because I want people to understand. I want them to realize the importance and the very real struggle that depression, et al, present to those of us who struggle with it.
A semi-colon to me, right now, says "You're not done yet. You're not done yet. Keep going, you're still writing your sentence." I look at it, and it changes the "I can't do this anymore. I'm done. I just can't." to "Keep going; one more step; one more day; one more line in your book of life."
It's one of my many life-lines on the inevitable down days.
Sure it's showing support for mental illness. However, "Because it's cool" doesn't sound like understanding the whole reason behind the semi-colon. It feels like the bandwagon is taking something deeply personal and making it a commonplace cliche.
But I'm old and practicallyyelling "GET OFF MY LAWN" to all the young folk.
Besides, just because it means something to me, doesn't mean that someone else can't love the look and want one. It **really** shouldn't bother me how other people treat symbols. It's a punctuation mark, for crying out loud.
Maybe it's because April is not so far in the past, and that experience is still somewhat fresh? Maybe because I want people to understand. I want them to realize the importance and the very real struggle that depression, et al, present to those of us who struggle with it.
A semi-colon to me, right now, says "You're not done yet. You're not done yet. Keep going, you're still writing your sentence." I look at it, and it changes the "I can't do this anymore. I'm done. I just can't." to "Keep going; one more step; one more day; one more line in your book of life."
It's one of my many life-lines on the inevitable down days.
Monday, August 10, 2015
The Job Experiment
Did my first 5 hours of work today. And I learned a few things:
A - keep a xanex in my pocket instead of hiding in my purse so I don't have to wait for break to take it.
B - My interpretation of front to back is NOT the same as normal people.
C - My anxiety was not triggered at all by the people in the store, but by doing an entire go-back rack backwards. And then a screaming baby. I sang to myself as I tried to convince my brain that the Ross way is the Ross way, not my way.
D - I really enjoy interacting with the customers. I like smiling at people and eliciting a smile in response. The high traffic due to back-to-school wasn't nearly as overwhelming as I thought it might be.
E - I tire really easily. After 5 hours on my feet, I am covered in sweat and am exhausted.
So work? So far I feel like I can do it. Can I do it without my anti-anxiety pill? No. Definitely need that. Glad I have it when I need it.
My way of sorting things is weird. I know that now. Who knew? Not me.
I grew up playing Pinochle. So I sort: Ace, King, Queen, Jack, Nine. Descending order, just like that. And because the lowest number is at the right, the right is then the front, and I move from right to left as I put things in order.
The poor lady training me was convinced she wasn't explaining things right. She did fabulous. I have to retrain my brain that the left side of the rack is the front, even though it's at the back of the fitting area. And when they refer to things being "behind" the sign on the rack, they mean to the right of it, not the left. Soooo strange to me, but ok. I have to put my back against the wall and look down the rack so my brain processes Front here. Back there. Behind the sign from this angle is truly behind it.
This is probably good thinking exercise for me. Currently frustrating and hard, but good for me, nonetheless. At least all of my coworkers are awesome and friendly and happy to answer all of my questions.
I think it's because it was my first day on the floor that I am wired, nervous and feel like crying. But I managed to keep all of that under control at work. I was able to let that out after I was in my van and driving home.
My kids are awesome. The rain was awesome. Being able to stand out in the rain and enjoy the puddles in my bare feet was a FABULOUS way of helping disperse the nervous energy.
When I got home, the kids could see I was trying not to have a complete breakdown. Mina, bless her sweet heart, made me fried eggs on toast. And oh my goodness, the few housework chores I'd asked them to do, DONE, by the time I got home. How awesome is that??? I couldn't even find the right words to tell the kids how proud I was of them, and how absolutely pleasing it was to find the three things on the check-off list done. I wish I had something super cool to reward them with, but hugs and kisses will have to suffice today. Awesome children.
A - keep a xanex in my pocket instead of hiding in my purse so I don't have to wait for break to take it.
B - My interpretation of front to back is NOT the same as normal people.
C - My anxiety was not triggered at all by the people in the store, but by doing an entire go-back rack backwards. And then a screaming baby. I sang to myself as I tried to convince my brain that the Ross way is the Ross way, not my way.
D - I really enjoy interacting with the customers. I like smiling at people and eliciting a smile in response. The high traffic due to back-to-school wasn't nearly as overwhelming as I thought it might be.
E - I tire really easily. After 5 hours on my feet, I am covered in sweat and am exhausted.
So work? So far I feel like I can do it. Can I do it without my anti-anxiety pill? No. Definitely need that. Glad I have it when I need it.
My way of sorting things is weird. I know that now. Who knew? Not me.
I grew up playing Pinochle. So I sort: Ace, King, Queen, Jack, Nine. Descending order, just like that. And because the lowest number is at the right, the right is then the front, and I move from right to left as I put things in order.
The poor lady training me was convinced she wasn't explaining things right. She did fabulous. I have to retrain my brain that the left side of the rack is the front, even though it's at the back of the fitting area. And when they refer to things being "behind" the sign on the rack, they mean to the right of it, not the left. Soooo strange to me, but ok. I have to put my back against the wall and look down the rack so my brain processes Front here. Back there. Behind the sign from this angle is truly behind it.
This is probably good thinking exercise for me. Currently frustrating and hard, but good for me, nonetheless. At least all of my coworkers are awesome and friendly and happy to answer all of my questions.
I think it's because it was my first day on the floor that I am wired, nervous and feel like crying. But I managed to keep all of that under control at work. I was able to let that out after I was in my van and driving home.
My kids are awesome. The rain was awesome. Being able to stand out in the rain and enjoy the puddles in my bare feet was a FABULOUS way of helping disperse the nervous energy.
When I got home, the kids could see I was trying not to have a complete breakdown. Mina, bless her sweet heart, made me fried eggs on toast. And oh my goodness, the few housework chores I'd asked them to do, DONE, by the time I got home. How awesome is that??? I couldn't even find the right words to tell the kids how proud I was of them, and how absolutely pleasing it was to find the three things on the check-off list done. I wish I had something super cool to reward them with, but hugs and kisses will have to suffice today. Awesome children.
Thursday, July 9, 2015
Where I'm At
Regression is hard. I know it's part of life, but it's a sucky part.
Let me start with the good things.
* I get to go play D&D with my guy friends on Saturdays. We laugh, we're silly, it's a good time. They don't care if I don't remember the rules. A couple understand my struggles completely. It's relaxing and recharging.
* Sunday evenings I go play games with another set of friends. We laugh, we're silly, and a good time is had by all.
* I have a lot of friends and family who are very supportive, whether I'm in a good place or a bad place.
* I have a great doctor who keeps tabs on me when I'm not doing great. He's supportive of my alternative supplements as well as being willing to tweak my meds as needed. He introduced me to goodrx.com, a great place to get coupons and less expensive prescriptions when you don't have insurance. "I don't get any kickbacks from this. Another patient of mine showed me this site, and I've been sharing it with patients ever since." I love my psychiatrist.
* My husband is currently home all the time, and frankly that's a good thing currently. I'm not all that sure that I should be left alone right now.
--
And here are my stressors:
* My birthday happened. It was extremely extremely bad this year. I think mostly because I don't want another year like last year, but regardless, it sent me into this tailspin that I haven't been able to pull myself out of.
* My husband is out of work, and I'm a little worried about our ability to continue paying rent.
* Both of my favorite family reunions are at the exact same time this year. Not only that, but as much as I want to go, I don't think that I can handle being around all those people. -- And my husband's immediate family reunion isn't nearly as many people as my extended family reunion. It makes me feel weak and stupid to dread the idea of going. Even though everyone is very loving, supportive, sweet, and caring. I just... don't feel like I can. And this makes me extra sad because I LOVE Bear Lake.
* My doctor changed my meds last week. I'm now on 300mg of Effexor a day. I have had really great results with this medicine, but every change in the dosage makes me sick. If I don't eat when I take my meds, I feel like I have the flu. The rest of the time, I just feel icky, nauseated, or dizzy. Sometimes I'm okay, but mostly I feel sick. And being sick makes me grumpy.
* I am tired ALL the time. I get up around 11 a.m. after 9 hours of sleep and try to do something with my kids or be productive. After about an hour, I cannot keep my eyes open and end up falling asleep wherever I'm at and have to put myself to bed for another couple of hours.
* My motivation and energy levels are GONE. There is an entire list of things around the house that I want to do. Really want to do, honest. But I just can't drum up the energy or care enough to do them.
- i.e. fold and put away my laundry. I'd kind of like to be able to vacuum that part of my room. Not only that, but when my room is clean, I feel like I can breathe better.
- mop my upstairs floors. I just want my house to smell clean.
- dust. Usually I love to dust, and it's not a hard thing for me to do. Now I look at my game chest, my piano and all the other shelves and think, "I want to dust that." And I can't summon the energy to go get a rag and do it.
* My right wrist and thumb are sprained. I was in a great creative space before I sprained them, and now I'm extremely discouraged that it hurts to move a pencil around. Well, it hurts to do quite a few things I'm used to doing with my right hand, but not being able to draw SUCKS.
* I went to the temple to go to my cousin's wedding a couple weeks ago and had a massive, I'm talking MASSIVE panic attack. I had to do breathing exercises, some kind of tapping/relaxation thing, and pop a xanex. I had to leave the wedding breakfast early because the anxiety was still bad. Going to the temple is supposed to be relaxing, recharging, and comforting. Instead, it made me want to go home. home home. Badly.
--
Here are the things that my doctor and other friends have suggested or 'prescribed' to help:
* exercise daily.
* Fish Oil and B vitamin supplements
* Iodine supplements
* Every day get up, get dressed, do my hair and make-up, and look like I'm ready to go out and face the world.
I would like to note that these things listed are not 'shoulds.' These aren't things that are like another list of things to feel guilty about. These are things that if I do them, I really do feel better. They are, my case, needs.
Except sometimes I can't make myself exercise. I have no energy. Or I'm too sick. And that just is how it is. No guilt, just a thing on my list to do when I *can* do it.
The vitamins and other supplements are also things I take when I can keep them down.
The getting dressed and doing my hair is easier. With my new haircut, I *Have* to do it daily or it looks really crazy. Some eyeliner and some earrings, done. This one I can do just because I prefer to like what I see when I look in a mirror.
Sitting outside, whether in the front during a rainstorm or out back to cuddle with the dogs. I see all the yardwork I should be doing, but it is healthy for me to feel the sun on my skin, the grass between my toes, and the strength of the trees.
--
On a religious/spiritual front, I am doing:
* Church on Sundays. I can get through sacrament meeting now with no problems as long as I'm sitting in the back. Of course, with the revival of my anxiety it's not as easy as it was before June 18, but I can at least make it through the first two meetings without stress. The third meeting is harder.
* I play the scriptures out loud when I'm going to bed. For those of you who fall asleep immediately, that probably makes no sense. But when you're me and it takes an hour or so to fall asleep, I actually hear at least three or four chapters before I fade out.
* Prayer. A lot of it. I still feel weak. I know I'm not alone, but oh my goodness do I feel weak.
--
Truthfully, it is extremely to want to keep going right now. I feel like I'm slogging through mud.
It's wonderful when my son comes and jumps up on me and cuddles. I kiss his face and neck, he giggles, then runs off to build or play toys. He sings and keeps up constant conversation as he bounces from thing to thing around the house before jumping back up on me and getting more kisses and hugs.
Now, all this being said, I don't have a plan. So while part of me might want to jump off that cliff, I can't. I won't. It's just... hard right now. It's hard to want to keep fighting.
It's hard to wake up and face another day of no energy and sick and not be able to go visit friends or go for a decent walk around my neighborhood.
Let me start with the good things.
* I get to go play D&D with my guy friends on Saturdays. We laugh, we're silly, it's a good time. They don't care if I don't remember the rules. A couple understand my struggles completely. It's relaxing and recharging.
* Sunday evenings I go play games with another set of friends. We laugh, we're silly, and a good time is had by all.
* I have a lot of friends and family who are very supportive, whether I'm in a good place or a bad place.
* I have a great doctor who keeps tabs on me when I'm not doing great. He's supportive of my alternative supplements as well as being willing to tweak my meds as needed. He introduced me to goodrx.com, a great place to get coupons and less expensive prescriptions when you don't have insurance. "I don't get any kickbacks from this. Another patient of mine showed me this site, and I've been sharing it with patients ever since." I love my psychiatrist.
* My husband is currently home all the time, and frankly that's a good thing currently. I'm not all that sure that I should be left alone right now.
--
And here are my stressors:
* My birthday happened. It was extremely extremely bad this year. I think mostly because I don't want another year like last year, but regardless, it sent me into this tailspin that I haven't been able to pull myself out of.
* My husband is out of work, and I'm a little worried about our ability to continue paying rent.
* Both of my favorite family reunions are at the exact same time this year. Not only that, but as much as I want to go, I don't think that I can handle being around all those people. -- And my husband's immediate family reunion isn't nearly as many people as my extended family reunion. It makes me feel weak and stupid to dread the idea of going. Even though everyone is very loving, supportive, sweet, and caring. I just... don't feel like I can. And this makes me extra sad because I LOVE Bear Lake.
* My doctor changed my meds last week. I'm now on 300mg of Effexor a day. I have had really great results with this medicine, but every change in the dosage makes me sick. If I don't eat when I take my meds, I feel like I have the flu. The rest of the time, I just feel icky, nauseated, or dizzy. Sometimes I'm okay, but mostly I feel sick. And being sick makes me grumpy.
* I am tired ALL the time. I get up around 11 a.m. after 9 hours of sleep and try to do something with my kids or be productive. After about an hour, I cannot keep my eyes open and end up falling asleep wherever I'm at and have to put myself to bed for another couple of hours.
* My motivation and energy levels are GONE. There is an entire list of things around the house that I want to do. Really want to do, honest. But I just can't drum up the energy or care enough to do them.
- i.e. fold and put away my laundry. I'd kind of like to be able to vacuum that part of my room. Not only that, but when my room is clean, I feel like I can breathe better.
- mop my upstairs floors. I just want my house to smell clean.
- dust. Usually I love to dust, and it's not a hard thing for me to do. Now I look at my game chest, my piano and all the other shelves and think, "I want to dust that." And I can't summon the energy to go get a rag and do it.
* My right wrist and thumb are sprained. I was in a great creative space before I sprained them, and now I'm extremely discouraged that it hurts to move a pencil around. Well, it hurts to do quite a few things I'm used to doing with my right hand, but not being able to draw SUCKS.
* I went to the temple to go to my cousin's wedding a couple weeks ago and had a massive, I'm talking MASSIVE panic attack. I had to do breathing exercises, some kind of tapping/relaxation thing, and pop a xanex. I had to leave the wedding breakfast early because the anxiety was still bad. Going to the temple is supposed to be relaxing, recharging, and comforting. Instead, it made me want to go home. home home. Badly.
--
Here are the things that my doctor and other friends have suggested or 'prescribed' to help:
* exercise daily.
* Fish Oil and B vitamin supplements
* Iodine supplements
* Every day get up, get dressed, do my hair and make-up, and look like I'm ready to go out and face the world.
I would like to note that these things listed are not 'shoulds.' These aren't things that are like another list of things to feel guilty about. These are things that if I do them, I really do feel better. They are, my case, needs.
Except sometimes I can't make myself exercise. I have no energy. Or I'm too sick. And that just is how it is. No guilt, just a thing on my list to do when I *can* do it.
The vitamins and other supplements are also things I take when I can keep them down.
The getting dressed and doing my hair is easier. With my new haircut, I *Have* to do it daily or it looks really crazy. Some eyeliner and some earrings, done. This one I can do just because I prefer to like what I see when I look in a mirror.
Sitting outside, whether in the front during a rainstorm or out back to cuddle with the dogs. I see all the yardwork I should be doing, but it is healthy for me to feel the sun on my skin, the grass between my toes, and the strength of the trees.
--
On a religious/spiritual front, I am doing:
* Church on Sundays. I can get through sacrament meeting now with no problems as long as I'm sitting in the back. Of course, with the revival of my anxiety it's not as easy as it was before June 18, but I can at least make it through the first two meetings without stress. The third meeting is harder.
* I play the scriptures out loud when I'm going to bed. For those of you who fall asleep immediately, that probably makes no sense. But when you're me and it takes an hour or so to fall asleep, I actually hear at least three or four chapters before I fade out.
* Prayer. A lot of it. I still feel weak. I know I'm not alone, but oh my goodness do I feel weak.
--
Truthfully, it is extremely to want to keep going right now. I feel like I'm slogging through mud.
It's wonderful when my son comes and jumps up on me and cuddles. I kiss his face and neck, he giggles, then runs off to build or play toys. He sings and keeps up constant conversation as he bounces from thing to thing around the house before jumping back up on me and getting more kisses and hugs.
Now, all this being said, I don't have a plan. So while part of me might want to jump off that cliff, I can't. I won't. It's just... hard right now. It's hard to want to keep fighting.
It's hard to wake up and face another day of no energy and sick and not be able to go visit friends or go for a decent walk around my neighborhood.
Tuesday, April 7, 2015
Humbling
I saw my psychiatrist today. I spent a good part of the session answering questions like, "Define 'not functioning'" "Are you still having suicidal thoughts?" "Explain how you don't fit" "How's your anxiety?"
Obviously there were a lot more questions like that. And quite a lot of waaaah, poor me in there. He listened, he took notes, his voice was moderate and kind. And then he asked, "What can I do to help you?"
I shrugged and said, "I don't know if you can."
It was obvious that he then made up his mind. He began typing in his computer and said, "Ok, we are going to switch your medications. Hopefully we can reconnect you to your creativity again. But--" And here he turned and looked at me, quite seriously. "You made an extremely poor choice that would have long lasting incredibly negative effects on your children, your family and friends. You need to find more effective coping skills to deal with frustration and stress. You NEED to get back into therapy. Find a way. You're extremely determined when you want to be, so you can make this happen. It needs to happen for your thought process to get back into alignment so you can see the difference between your choices."
Sometimes I need to be smacked upside the head with a wallop of reality. I had prayed and prayed that my doctor would be helped to know how to help me, and I needed to hear that.
And now, hours later, now I feel the shame. The "what in the world was I thinking???" has kicked in. The realization that my sweet, sweet children would have been traumatized and hurt - Would have been? no, HAVE been - putting it mildly. Scarred forever. What kind of mother does that to a child?
Well, obviously this mother. This mother who is struggling to control her thoughts, her feelings, and everything. I guess I just have to come to terms with the fact that I am not the one in control here. I have to have a little more faith than I have had.
It's extremely embarrassing and humiliating to see how wrong I was. At the time it felt like the only right decision. Tonight I don't even want to admit that it happened, but the whole world knows.
Guilt can be unhealthy, but it can also be a spur to be better, to make something right. I don't know how to make right the fact that I scared everyone - that I gave up. I can only hope that by continuing to try to be better, by still being here, those who I hurt can eventually decide to forgive me. Maybe I can learn to forgive myself for being weak.
The consequences are very real. One of my children won't look at or talk to me. Another is afraid to go to school because she's worried I won't be here when she gets back. Another cries over everything and holds on so tight when she hugs me, willing me to still be her rock. And yet another is angry and doesn't understand why I'd do that to her.
Oh, there are probably more consequences that I'm not aware of or that haven't cropped up yet. Some that are less obvious than the blisters, the sore legs and muscles. More than the emotional pain I've caused everyone around me.
I won't say I don't deserve this. Of course I deserve it. I may get to make a choice, but I don't get to pick the end result.
I will say that I will attempt to make things right. I know I'm limited in what I can do and what I can give, but I will do what I can. I have to struggle with down days and I may not be able to do everything, but I CAN, for crying out loud, be here.
Obviously there were a lot more questions like that. And quite a lot of waaaah, poor me in there. He listened, he took notes, his voice was moderate and kind. And then he asked, "What can I do to help you?"
I shrugged and said, "I don't know if you can."
It was obvious that he then made up his mind. He began typing in his computer and said, "Ok, we are going to switch your medications. Hopefully we can reconnect you to your creativity again. But--" And here he turned and looked at me, quite seriously. "You made an extremely poor choice that would have long lasting incredibly negative effects on your children, your family and friends. You need to find more effective coping skills to deal with frustration and stress. You NEED to get back into therapy. Find a way. You're extremely determined when you want to be, so you can make this happen. It needs to happen for your thought process to get back into alignment so you can see the difference between your choices."
Sometimes I need to be smacked upside the head with a wallop of reality. I had prayed and prayed that my doctor would be helped to know how to help me, and I needed to hear that.
And now, hours later, now I feel the shame. The "what in the world was I thinking???" has kicked in. The realization that my sweet, sweet children would have been traumatized and hurt - Would have been? no, HAVE been - putting it mildly. Scarred forever. What kind of mother does that to a child?
Well, obviously this mother. This mother who is struggling to control her thoughts, her feelings, and everything. I guess I just have to come to terms with the fact that I am not the one in control here. I have to have a little more faith than I have had.
It's extremely embarrassing and humiliating to see how wrong I was. At the time it felt like the only right decision. Tonight I don't even want to admit that it happened, but the whole world knows.
Guilt can be unhealthy, but it can also be a spur to be better, to make something right. I don't know how to make right the fact that I scared everyone - that I gave up. I can only hope that by continuing to try to be better, by still being here, those who I hurt can eventually decide to forgive me. Maybe I can learn to forgive myself for being weak.
The consequences are very real. One of my children won't look at or talk to me. Another is afraid to go to school because she's worried I won't be here when she gets back. Another cries over everything and holds on so tight when she hugs me, willing me to still be her rock. And yet another is angry and doesn't understand why I'd do that to her.
Oh, there are probably more consequences that I'm not aware of or that haven't cropped up yet. Some that are less obvious than the blisters, the sore legs and muscles. More than the emotional pain I've caused everyone around me.
I won't say I don't deserve this. Of course I deserve it. I may get to make a choice, but I don't get to pick the end result.
I will say that I will attempt to make things right. I know I'm limited in what I can do and what I can give, but I will do what I can. I have to struggle with down days and I may not be able to do everything, but I CAN, for crying out loud, be here.
Friday, March 6, 2015
On Faith
Wow are there days when my faith is tested. Let me just say here at the beginning that my scriptures are a set of my best friends. They are well worn, marked, cross referenced, wrinkled, full of various bookmarks, and filled with things I love that make me feel enlightened, peaceful, and full of hope. Ok. So you get where I am starting from.
--If you're not religious or don't believe in God or a higher power or whatever, that's cool. You may or may not want to continue reading my rambling thoughts.--
The last 30 days have been difficult for me. The last week has been a sob fest in more ways than one.
I get snippets of happiness now and then, but they are fleeting. My mind is an emotional beach, the wet sand under my toes a source of peace and joy. Then the surf rolls in and pulls the sand out from under my feet and I am helpless to stop it.
When it comes to dealing with the emotional ups, downs, ins and outs, I go through various stages:
* I can feel God with me, loving me and helping me through.
* I don't understand what I'm supposed to be learning from this, but plead for help anyway.
* I try to be patient and get through the days, looking for things to be grateful for and laugh about in a world that seems gray and dreary.
* I get angry and frustrated, and instead of just talking to God, I yell and cry and demand that He fix me. I know He can, I just don't understand why He won't. What more does He want from me???
There are days when I can feel the Spirit walking me through life because I can't do it myself. And then there are days I am so angry that I couldn't hear God if he was in the same room with me and yelling back. On days like those, I find myself thinking, "Well, I'm in hell now, I might as well be prepared to be there when I die, because this is too hard."
My mother would be so ashamed to hear me admit this. It's hard to admit this out loud, but it's the truth. And on those days when I just don't want to hear Him, when I curl up and sleep or stare at the wall because I just can't make myself read my scriptures or get on my knees to pray, those are the days I get small miracles.
There is a sweet Jehovah's Witness woman who comes around once a month. She has the best smile. I swear this woman is an angel in the guise of a woman. She stops at the door, checks on how I'm feeling, apologizes if she's woken me up, and then says she'll come back at a different time if that's better for me. But she's already there, and I always ask her what her message for the day is. She gives me this sweet, loving smile, and shares a scripture and thought with me. Her bible is different than mine in its verbiage, but the message and the spirit are the same. It doesn't matter what scripture she chooses or which thought she shares, it's always what I need to hear.
On days that I just don't believe that I'm loved anymore, an angel shows up in one form or another and says, "Yes you are. Don't give up yet."
Even though I get angry, petulant, pouty, grumpy, and throw tantrums, somehow it's still ok. Even though it's not, it is.
What does all this have to do with faith? I think it boils down to: Faith doesn't mean God will fix me. It means that I understand He's there, no matter how bad it gets. And He understands. I absolutely, totally, firmly believe that He understands my illness. That if it gets so bad that the illness wins and takes me, that He understands that, too.
I may not always be able to feel Him with me, but that doesn't mean He's not there. That is my definition of faith.
-- Let me just add... this doesn't mean I don't 'kick against the pricks' or struggle with basic commandments. Oh I'm so far from perfect... There are days when I'm so angry that I want to go break every covenant I've ever made, just because I can. Just to say, "So there!" Not that it would accomplish anything but cause me pain, but honestly there are days that I believe that's all I deserve. So please don't come away from reading this post thinking that I feel like I'm somehow... I dunno... perfect, or above, or more blessed, or 'better than' or whatever. I'm just me, struggling through life as best I know how, given the tools I have at hand. And one of those tools is the belief that I am not alone in this fight. --
--If you're not religious or don't believe in God or a higher power or whatever, that's cool. You may or may not want to continue reading my rambling thoughts.--
The last 30 days have been difficult for me. The last week has been a sob fest in more ways than one.
I get snippets of happiness now and then, but they are fleeting. My mind is an emotional beach, the wet sand under my toes a source of peace and joy. Then the surf rolls in and pulls the sand out from under my feet and I am helpless to stop it.
When it comes to dealing with the emotional ups, downs, ins and outs, I go through various stages:
* I can feel God with me, loving me and helping me through.
* I don't understand what I'm supposed to be learning from this, but plead for help anyway.
* I try to be patient and get through the days, looking for things to be grateful for and laugh about in a world that seems gray and dreary.
* I get angry and frustrated, and instead of just talking to God, I yell and cry and demand that He fix me. I know He can, I just don't understand why He won't. What more does He want from me???
There are days when I can feel the Spirit walking me through life because I can't do it myself. And then there are days I am so angry that I couldn't hear God if he was in the same room with me and yelling back. On days like those, I find myself thinking, "Well, I'm in hell now, I might as well be prepared to be there when I die, because this is too hard."
My mother would be so ashamed to hear me admit this. It's hard to admit this out loud, but it's the truth. And on those days when I just don't want to hear Him, when I curl up and sleep or stare at the wall because I just can't make myself read my scriptures or get on my knees to pray, those are the days I get small miracles.
There is a sweet Jehovah's Witness woman who comes around once a month. She has the best smile. I swear this woman is an angel in the guise of a woman. She stops at the door, checks on how I'm feeling, apologizes if she's woken me up, and then says she'll come back at a different time if that's better for me. But she's already there, and I always ask her what her message for the day is. She gives me this sweet, loving smile, and shares a scripture and thought with me. Her bible is different than mine in its verbiage, but the message and the spirit are the same. It doesn't matter what scripture she chooses or which thought she shares, it's always what I need to hear.
On days that I just don't believe that I'm loved anymore, an angel shows up in one form or another and says, "Yes you are. Don't give up yet."
Even though I get angry, petulant, pouty, grumpy, and throw tantrums, somehow it's still ok. Even though it's not, it is.
What does all this have to do with faith? I think it boils down to: Faith doesn't mean God will fix me. It means that I understand He's there, no matter how bad it gets. And He understands. I absolutely, totally, firmly believe that He understands my illness. That if it gets so bad that the illness wins and takes me, that He understands that, too.
I may not always be able to feel Him with me, but that doesn't mean He's not there. That is my definition of faith.
-- Let me just add... this doesn't mean I don't 'kick against the pricks' or struggle with basic commandments. Oh I'm so far from perfect... There are days when I'm so angry that I want to go break every covenant I've ever made, just because I can. Just to say, "So there!" Not that it would accomplish anything but cause me pain, but honestly there are days that I believe that's all I deserve. So please don't come away from reading this post thinking that I feel like I'm somehow... I dunno... perfect, or above, or more blessed, or 'better than' or whatever. I'm just me, struggling through life as best I know how, given the tools I have at hand. And one of those tools is the belief that I am not alone in this fight. --
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