So, I have been trying this new thing when I go to therapy. And although I have seen Dr. C for almost a year now, it's a skill I am just now getting. It's certainly not for lack of trust as I adore her, but more lack of self confidence and self-esteem. I bet you're wondering what this magical things is....
Talking.
Yup, I am talking in sessions.
Amazing, right?
I have been struggling for a long time to be able to talk, to trust, to tell myself that what I have to say is worth it and that if/when I do talk for the whole session, I feel SO much better afterwards! Ironic, isn't it?
The problem is that when I get upset I tend to shut-down. So there have been weeks in a row where I would show up for my appointments and not be able to say more than a handful of words. Sometimes I would sit in my chair and cry, sometimes I would be able to at least have eye contact with her, sometimes I couldn't even do that. But I feel with the events of the past few weeks and me actually making some strides to turn this MDD around, that while I am still miserable on the inside, I am at least making progress.
The only one downside of talking that I have found so far is that the session flies by, and then I have to wait another 167 hours to do it again. (Well, that's not totally true as I usually see her more than once a week, but it feels more like 167,000 hours sometimes.)
Here's to a better today! I have another doctor's appointment about my lap-band later this morning, and I am sure that I will be back to blog about that!
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
Sunday, July 28, 2013
To thick to break
The burn of alcohol slides down the back of her throat. It tastes like a strawberry Nyquil. She think this is her 5th shot, but she has lost track. She takes another one in the hopes that it evens the number out. Her leg burns from the cuts she just made and she cannot be sure if it helps or if it
causes more pain. The last slice was deep and it bled more than she
thought it would. She had stared at the droplets that started small as the blade broke the skin, and then got bigger as the knife slid over the same line again and again. Sarah McLachlan is playing sad songs through YouTube on her computer. She props her elbows on the table and drops her head into her hands.
She is so confused about the whole weekend, the flurry of activity yesterday in seeing her father and listening to lies, the downfall of today and trying to wrap her head around the information. Today has been a roller coaster of emotions; she started the day angry and resentful of everything. She was pretty sure that her family was choosing not to listen to her on purpose and was meaning to drive her insane. Her husband finally took the kids out, riding bikes and visiting parks for almost two hours. She was able to make Sunday dinner in that time: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, french bread; but it was all done with a drink in her hand. Pathetic, she thought, simply pathetic.
Tears hit the table. She hadn't even realized that she was crying, lost in the song playing. She had thoughts swimming in her head so fast she could hardly catch them. Drink more, the thoughts said. No, they yelled back at each other, just go cut. Cut your wrists. The tears fell harder. She just needed to make it through the night. She knew if she could make it to morning that everything would seem better.
"The neck, go for the big vein in the neck. It will only take a few seconds." That wasn't a thought talking, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It was her Lion. She couldn't bring herself to turn around, but felt him use his giant paw to sweep the hair away from her left ear.
"I can help you," he purred into her ear. "I can help this to all go away. Just give me the knife, I know where you have hidden it anyway. Give it to me and I will do it for you. I will hold you as you go to sleep."
Overly-frustrated, she took her shot glass and threw it across the kitchen. It hit the wall and fell to the floor, but the glass was too thick to break. The Lion laughed deeply, She slowly shut her eyes. Giving up would be easier. It would make everything go away. She stood up, still not looking at her captor, circled around him, and headed to the bathroom. The sound of his breath right next to her assured her that he was following, that this was really going to happen this time.
Entering the bathroom, she withdrew the purple Exacto knife from it's hidden spot. She pulled the cap off, noticing that there was still a drop of blood on the blade from earlier in the day. She thought about cleaning it off, then realized that there wasn't a point. This was it. She didn't have to worry about infection.
Her eyes closed once again, she reached her hand over her shoulder, felt the Lion take it from her grasp, and tilted her head to expose her neck. She whispered a prayer as she felt it dig into her skin. She said each of her children's names, and felt two more tears roll down her face. She room began to spin, she felt herself lean back into his arms, and she took a final breath.
She is so confused about the whole weekend, the flurry of activity yesterday in seeing her father and listening to lies, the downfall of today and trying to wrap her head around the information. Today has been a roller coaster of emotions; she started the day angry and resentful of everything. She was pretty sure that her family was choosing not to listen to her on purpose and was meaning to drive her insane. Her husband finally took the kids out, riding bikes and visiting parks for almost two hours. She was able to make Sunday dinner in that time: roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, french bread; but it was all done with a drink in her hand. Pathetic, she thought, simply pathetic.
Tears hit the table. She hadn't even realized that she was crying, lost in the song playing. She had thoughts swimming in her head so fast she could hardly catch them. Drink more, the thoughts said. No, they yelled back at each other, just go cut. Cut your wrists. The tears fell harder. She just needed to make it through the night. She knew if she could make it to morning that everything would seem better.
"The neck, go for the big vein in the neck. It will only take a few seconds." That wasn't a thought talking, and she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. It was her Lion. She couldn't bring herself to turn around, but felt him use his giant paw to sweep the hair away from her left ear.
"I can help you," he purred into her ear. "I can help this to all go away. Just give me the knife, I know where you have hidden it anyway. Give it to me and I will do it for you. I will hold you as you go to sleep."
Overly-frustrated, she took her shot glass and threw it across the kitchen. It hit the wall and fell to the floor, but the glass was too thick to break. The Lion laughed deeply, She slowly shut her eyes. Giving up would be easier. It would make everything go away. She stood up, still not looking at her captor, circled around him, and headed to the bathroom. The sound of his breath right next to her assured her that he was following, that this was really going to happen this time.
Entering the bathroom, she withdrew the purple Exacto knife from it's hidden spot. She pulled the cap off, noticing that there was still a drop of blood on the blade from earlier in the day. She thought about cleaning it off, then realized that there wasn't a point. This was it. She didn't have to worry about infection.
Her eyes closed once again, she reached her hand over her shoulder, felt the Lion take it from her grasp, and tilted her head to expose her neck. She whispered a prayer as she felt it dig into her skin. She said each of her children's names, and felt two more tears roll down her face. She room began to spin, she felt herself lean back into his arms, and she took a final breath.
Friday, July 26, 2013
A Note to my Father
Dear Daddy,
Remember the summer of '84? You were about to get married to Mom, and I was about 7 years old. Do you remember my first two wheeler bike? I do. It was a shinny yellow base, white wheels, white handle bars with yellow and white streamers, and a plastic white basket on the front. And you were determined that I was going to learn to ride that bike before we moved. For weekends on end you and I would be in the front yard with that bike, in the grass since there where no sidewalks. You would hold the handle on the bike of the white banana seat and guide me back and forth until I begged to stop. Eventually, I got the hang of it and you started to let go more and more often until one day I was ready to ride it all on my own.
I know that these past two years have been difficult for you. I can only begin to imagine how I would feel if L, Big A, or Little A were going through depression so bad. I know that this is not the first time that we have been down this road, that we struggled with depression and hospitalization when I was younger and again in college. And I bet you thought, just like I did, that I was so settled down, a husband, three beautiful children, a wonderful job, I bet you thought that everything was going great. I bet you thought, like I did, that I had made it through the worst parts of my life and that only good things were left to come. Boy, weren't we wrong.
I wish that I could fully explain to you how this all went downhill, starting in 2011 and leading up until now. I wish that I could explain it to myself. But, honestly, I don't really know why this happened or how things got so complicated and confusing. I wish I could say, "this is the moment that I caught major depressive disorder." But I can't. Because it's not something that you can "catch". It's something that was probably hidden under the surface for a long time, wearing me out, and I finally couldn't hold it in anymore. I broke. It literally felt like I was snapped in half and I was left with no way to put myself back together.
Jump to June 24, 2013. The day that started the end of it all. I had to call and tell you, once again, that I had become more than suicidal and I was involuntarily hospitalized. I had hoped to never make that call to you again. This was the 5th time I was hospitalized in 9 months, and it was highly embarrassing for me. It was hard each time I had to tell you where I was. I felt like I was disappointing you, letting you down, letting myself down.
To say that I was surprised by your reaction would be an understatement. You wanted out, you wanted "off my roller-coater." I was crushed. I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. The doctors were not happy with how upset I was. They told me that I shouldn't have visitors until things calmed down; they didn't even want J to come see me everyday. I was put on suicide precautions and watched 24/7. I cried more than I have ever cried in my life. EVER.
You are my father, my Daddy, and you were supposed to be there for me forever. You used to tell me when I was little that you would NEVER leave me the way (Bio-Mom) did, and here it was, feeling like you were doing just that. I wanted to talk to you, to figure out how I could fix it. You e-mailed me and told me to stop stalking you. Pieces of me began to die. I was in the hospital for almost 5 weeks, probably 3 more than I needed to be because I was so impacted by this.
The months after I got out of the hospital, I would tell myself that you were just figuring out how you felt and what to do; telling myself that I should just give you space. I would attempt to talk about it with my therapist or with J, and I would just collapse into tears and frustration. I felt abandoned. I felt that you no longer cared or loved me. I felt that I had disappointed you to the point that you didn't want me to be part of your family. I would e-mail you every couple months and try to reconnect, and I was always turned down in one manner or another.
Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, after a few very hard sessions, were my therapist and I decided that I would send a letter, one more letter, one more attempt to try and reconnect with the family. I needed to send it, to let you all know that I could no longer do this, I would no longer hold on hope that we would reconnect. I needed you all to know that if you didn't want to talk to me, that that was fine, but I needed closure and to move on.
I didn't think that I would get a response, but Mom texted me and wanted to have breakfast. I was terrified, but I went because I was craving some sort of contact. And it went well. And she explained to me what really happened, why you really backed off. J had written an e-mail that highly offended you and by backing off you thought that you were honoring what he had insisted on. You thought that you were doing what my family wanted.
I didn't know about this e-mail until breakfast last Sunday. No idea that it ever existed. I wish that I had known sooner. I wish that someone on one of the sides had thought to bring it up to me. I wish that it was never written. I wish that none of this had ever happened.
But it has happened. And we now need to figure out how to move on from this. I need to learn to trust you again; trust that I will not be hurt or let-down. I am guessing that you are still needing to heal your wounds, that this might be just as hard on you as it is on me.
We need to learn to move on, whether that be together or separate. While I am working as hard as I can, my journey with this depression is far from over and I sure could use all the support that I can get. I could use someone in my corner just solely there for support, to call me and say that they love me, to have lunch with and let me vent, to make me feel as safe as I used to when I was 5 and you would tuck me into bed.
I need my Daddy.
So, the ball is in your court now. The path we walk down is your choice, whether that be walking it together or splitting at the fork. I place this into your hands, letting go as much as I can.
Your M
Remember the summer of '84? You were about to get married to Mom, and I was about 7 years old. Do you remember my first two wheeler bike? I do. It was a shinny yellow base, white wheels, white handle bars with yellow and white streamers, and a plastic white basket on the front. And you were determined that I was going to learn to ride that bike before we moved. For weekends on end you and I would be in the front yard with that bike, in the grass since there where no sidewalks. You would hold the handle on the bike of the white banana seat and guide me back and forth until I begged to stop. Eventually, I got the hang of it and you started to let go more and more often until one day I was ready to ride it all on my own.
I know that these past two years have been difficult for you. I can only begin to imagine how I would feel if L, Big A, or Little A were going through depression so bad. I know that this is not the first time that we have been down this road, that we struggled with depression and hospitalization when I was younger and again in college. And I bet you thought, just like I did, that I was so settled down, a husband, three beautiful children, a wonderful job, I bet you thought that everything was going great. I bet you thought, like I did, that I had made it through the worst parts of my life and that only good things were left to come. Boy, weren't we wrong.
I wish that I could fully explain to you how this all went downhill, starting in 2011 and leading up until now. I wish that I could explain it to myself. But, honestly, I don't really know why this happened or how things got so complicated and confusing. I wish I could say, "this is the moment that I caught major depressive disorder." But I can't. Because it's not something that you can "catch". It's something that was probably hidden under the surface for a long time, wearing me out, and I finally couldn't hold it in anymore. I broke. It literally felt like I was snapped in half and I was left with no way to put myself back together.
Jump to June 24, 2013. The day that started the end of it all. I had to call and tell you, once again, that I had become more than suicidal and I was involuntarily hospitalized. I had hoped to never make that call to you again. This was the 5th time I was hospitalized in 9 months, and it was highly embarrassing for me. It was hard each time I had to tell you where I was. I felt like I was disappointing you, letting you down, letting myself down.
To say that I was surprised by your reaction would be an understatement. You wanted out, you wanted "off my roller-coater." I was crushed. I couldn't figure out what I had done wrong. The doctors were not happy with how upset I was. They told me that I shouldn't have visitors until things calmed down; they didn't even want J to come see me everyday. I was put on suicide precautions and watched 24/7. I cried more than I have ever cried in my life. EVER.
You are my father, my Daddy, and you were supposed to be there for me forever. You used to tell me when I was little that you would NEVER leave me the way (Bio-Mom) did, and here it was, feeling like you were doing just that. I wanted to talk to you, to figure out how I could fix it. You e-mailed me and told me to stop stalking you. Pieces of me began to die. I was in the hospital for almost 5 weeks, probably 3 more than I needed to be because I was so impacted by this.
The months after I got out of the hospital, I would tell myself that you were just figuring out how you felt and what to do; telling myself that I should just give you space. I would attempt to talk about it with my therapist or with J, and I would just collapse into tears and frustration. I felt abandoned. I felt that you no longer cared or loved me. I felt that I had disappointed you to the point that you didn't want me to be part of your family. I would e-mail you every couple months and try to reconnect, and I was always turned down in one manner or another.
Fast-forward to a few weeks ago, after a few very hard sessions, were my therapist and I decided that I would send a letter, one more letter, one more attempt to try and reconnect with the family. I needed to send it, to let you all know that I could no longer do this, I would no longer hold on hope that we would reconnect. I needed you all to know that if you didn't want to talk to me, that that was fine, but I needed closure and to move on.
I didn't think that I would get a response, but Mom texted me and wanted to have breakfast. I was terrified, but I went because I was craving some sort of contact. And it went well. And she explained to me what really happened, why you really backed off. J had written an e-mail that highly offended you and by backing off you thought that you were honoring what he had insisted on. You thought that you were doing what my family wanted.
I didn't know about this e-mail until breakfast last Sunday. No idea that it ever existed. I wish that I had known sooner. I wish that someone on one of the sides had thought to bring it up to me. I wish that it was never written. I wish that none of this had ever happened.
But it has happened. And we now need to figure out how to move on from this. I need to learn to trust you again; trust that I will not be hurt or let-down. I am guessing that you are still needing to heal your wounds, that this might be just as hard on you as it is on me.
We need to learn to move on, whether that be together or separate. While I am working as hard as I can, my journey with this depression is far from over and I sure could use all the support that I can get. I could use someone in my corner just solely there for support, to call me and say that they love me, to have lunch with and let me vent, to make me feel as safe as I used to when I was 5 and you would tuck me into bed.
I need my Daddy.
So, the ball is in your court now. The path we walk down is your choice, whether that be walking it together or splitting at the fork. I place this into your hands, letting go as much as I can.
Your M
On being pathetic
pa·thet·ic
/pəˈTHetik/
Adjective
|
Thursday, July 25, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Making the cut
Shaking hands
Racing heart
Spinning head
Just do it
Shiny and Sharp
Coldness and Affliction
Blood and Relief
Cannot stop it
Dripping thigh
Stained towel
Heavy heart
One more time
Embarressed and Ashamed
Disappointed and Frustrated
Relinquish and Surrender
Start over tomorrow
Tuesday, July 23, 2013
Anxiety
I can deal with depression. For me it manifests itself through wanting to just lay in bed all day, doing nothing. It makes me not want to eat, and hygiene pretty much goes out the window. I know that if I wait it out, usually 3-4 days, that it will get better. What I cannot deal with is anxiety.
*Anxiety makes me want to overeat, but my stomach cannot tolerate food so I vomit.
*Anxiety makes me not sleep because I cannot shut my brain down.
*Anxiety makes me think of self-harm because I so desperately want to feel something else. Pain is a different feeling.
*Anxiety makes me drink, because I cannot sleep and I pray that the numbness of alcohol will help lull me to sleep.
*Anxiety makes me angry, and that, perhaps is the worst.
>I yell at my kids, and they don't deserve that. At all.
>I scream and swear and pick fights with my husband. I beg silently for his attention and then violently turn him away when he gives it to me.
>I am sharp with my students, talking in a more condescending tone than I would otherwise.
>I am impatient with people. I immediately internalize it if I call, text, or write someone and don't get a response.
>I think suicidally. I make plans in my head and recently have gone as far as to write actual suicide notes both to my husband and all three of my kids.
>I become more forgetful, calling my husband several times to get the answer to the same questions or repeating the same steps at home not realizing that I have already done something.
> Anxiety = Anger = Sadness = Anxiety. And it becomes a vicious cycle.
I have terribly high anxiety right now, and not even my Klonopin seems to be easing it. There has been so much going on in the family the past couple weeks, and it has all been building. Not to mention that I am about to bottom out on my cycle, and I keep trying to push it off/work through it because I know that J needs me to be strong, and Little A's birthday is Thursday so I HAVE to make it until then. After that, it's all up for grabs.
*Anxiety makes me want to overeat, but my stomach cannot tolerate food so I vomit.
*Anxiety makes me not sleep because I cannot shut my brain down.
*Anxiety makes me think of self-harm because I so desperately want to feel something else. Pain is a different feeling.
*Anxiety makes me drink, because I cannot sleep and I pray that the numbness of alcohol will help lull me to sleep.
*Anxiety makes me angry, and that, perhaps is the worst.
>I yell at my kids, and they don't deserve that. At all.
>I scream and swear and pick fights with my husband. I beg silently for his attention and then violently turn him away when he gives it to me.
>I am sharp with my students, talking in a more condescending tone than I would otherwise.
>I am impatient with people. I immediately internalize it if I call, text, or write someone and don't get a response.
>I think suicidally. I make plans in my head and recently have gone as far as to write actual suicide notes both to my husband and all three of my kids.
>I become more forgetful, calling my husband several times to get the answer to the same questions or repeating the same steps at home not realizing that I have already done something.
> Anxiety = Anger = Sadness = Anxiety. And it becomes a vicious cycle.
I have terribly high anxiety right now, and not even my Klonopin seems to be easing it. There has been so much going on in the family the past couple weeks, and it has all been building. Not to mention that I am about to bottom out on my cycle, and I keep trying to push it off/work through it because I know that J needs me to be strong, and Little A's birthday is Thursday so I HAVE to make it until then. After that, it's all up for grabs.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Yeah, so I might not be ok.
I am sure that you have had one of these days...the day that you try and put on a brave face and walk through the world pretending like everything is ok, when really you are DYING inside.
That's today.
J stayed home today, an unusual thing for him to do, but between Nana's cancer and other stressors of life, he was looking for a break and I was more than happy to encourage it. Although, deep down, I kind of wanted the day to myself, mainly so I could stay in bed and do nothing but sit in my sadness. But when J takes days off, it is not for just sitting around. As soon as the nanny got there, we were out the door. For almost 3 hours we ran errands, got some beloved chocolate, and went to lunch. Should have been awesome. Should have been.
I was really distracted. He had to repeat statements and questions several times because I was off and lost in my head. He even asked me once if I was with him on this planet or if I was somewhere else. (I, of course, was somewhere else.)
So....what was distracting me?
1. Thoughts of self-harm that I had last night that I almost gave into. And that hasn't happened in a long time.
2. Dr. C had sent me a text message that said she was available to meet today if I still wanted, but that would have meant that J and I would have had to end our outing early, and he was so happy we were out that I couldn't disappoint him. But I really wanted to see her and now I have to wait until Thursday.
3. I have been back on my meds (for the most part) for 6 weeks now and I still feel that my cycle now is no different than it was when I was completely off meds. That's very frustrating and makes me want to stop taking them again. If they are not making a difference, than what is the point?
4. My mom and I had breakfast on Sunday (still working on a blog about that) and it has left me spinning. We haven't spoken in a year, and now she would like us to come on Saturday so she can see the kids. But she doesn't want J to come. The whole morning with her was painful and confusing and I still haven't been able to process it all (hence why I wanted the appointment with Dr. C).
***
So I am now sitting at work, blogging because my student has not showed up for her appointment, and really wishing that I was at home instead.
I take that back, I don't want to be at home. I just don't want to be.
That's today.
J stayed home today, an unusual thing for him to do, but between Nana's cancer and other stressors of life, he was looking for a break and I was more than happy to encourage it. Although, deep down, I kind of wanted the day to myself, mainly so I could stay in bed and do nothing but sit in my sadness. But when J takes days off, it is not for just sitting around. As soon as the nanny got there, we were out the door. For almost 3 hours we ran errands, got some beloved chocolate, and went to lunch. Should have been awesome. Should have been.
I was really distracted. He had to repeat statements and questions several times because I was off and lost in my head. He even asked me once if I was with him on this planet or if I was somewhere else. (I, of course, was somewhere else.)
So....what was distracting me?
1. Thoughts of self-harm that I had last night that I almost gave into. And that hasn't happened in a long time.
2. Dr. C had sent me a text message that said she was available to meet today if I still wanted, but that would have meant that J and I would have had to end our outing early, and he was so happy we were out that I couldn't disappoint him. But I really wanted to see her and now I have to wait until Thursday.
3. I have been back on my meds (for the most part) for 6 weeks now and I still feel that my cycle now is no different than it was when I was completely off meds. That's very frustrating and makes me want to stop taking them again. If they are not making a difference, than what is the point?
4. My mom and I had breakfast on Sunday (still working on a blog about that) and it has left me spinning. We haven't spoken in a year, and now she would like us to come on Saturday so she can see the kids. But she doesn't want J to come. The whole morning with her was painful and confusing and I still haven't been able to process it all (hence why I wanted the appointment with Dr. C).
***
So I am now sitting at work, blogging because my student has not showed up for her appointment, and really wishing that I was at home instead.
I take that back, I don't want to be at home. I just don't want to be.
Saturday, July 20, 2013
I allow myself to be hurt
I have realized something the past few days that has been kinda hard to come to grips with, but I thought it was worth sharing.
I allow myself to be hurt by people.
Seems like a simple enough statement, but it has taken me about 3 hours to build the courage to write this blog.
I allow myself to be hurt by people.
Example on my mind: I have always struggled with allowing myself to get close to older females. If I psychoanalyze myself, I could say it was because my biological mom left me when I wasn't even two and I struggled when I was young to have a good relationship with my step-mom. I would look to teachers to be more than their title required, I was looking for someone that I could attach to, and I was almost always disappointed. Recently, I have realized that I am still following that pattern, that I take awhile to get close to an older female, and then when I do start to break the walls down, I do not vocalize my needs with them but instead get disappointed when I am not getting what I need. For example, Dr. C. She and I had a rocky start, I was not in a good place for most of the three months that I started to see her (October 2012) and then I was hospitalized for about a month in January 2013. When I came out of the hospital I was in a better place, and started to allow myself to form an attachment. We e-mailed and blogged, sometimes sending text messages if I really needed something. Recently, when we were trying to end a REALLY rough session, and I was next to hysterical and trying to walk out of her office, she tried to hug me, and I pulled away. Later, as I thought about it, I felt really guilty. She was attempting to give me the very thing that I needed and honestly wanted and yet I couldn't accept it. So, I decided to start being more open with, well, I guess with the experience. And what I think I did was allow myself to be hurt. After that interaction I put her on a pedestal and expected that she would be able to meet all my needs and, frankly, all my demands of her. I have become upset if I e-mail her and don't get responses. I get offended if our sessions only last 50 minutes, as routinely we go over the hour mark. What I need to realize is that I have two options in this situation: I either need to tell her what I am expecting and come to a common agreement OR I need to stop going from zero to 100 in two steps. Does that make any sense? I feel like I go from not wanting anything to wanting it all, and that's not fair to her or me. I need to be more realistic with myself, and have less expectations of her.
This is something that I am just starting to work on, especially since it might be what's going on right now and I am trying to work through it. Add it to the list of all my goals for this year....
I allow myself to be hurt by people.
Seems like a simple enough statement, but it has taken me about 3 hours to build the courage to write this blog.
I allow myself to be hurt by people.
Example on my mind: I have always struggled with allowing myself to get close to older females. If I psychoanalyze myself, I could say it was because my biological mom left me when I wasn't even two and I struggled when I was young to have a good relationship with my step-mom. I would look to teachers to be more than their title required, I was looking for someone that I could attach to, and I was almost always disappointed. Recently, I have realized that I am still following that pattern, that I take awhile to get close to an older female, and then when I do start to break the walls down, I do not vocalize my needs with them but instead get disappointed when I am not getting what I need. For example, Dr. C. She and I had a rocky start, I was not in a good place for most of the three months that I started to see her (October 2012) and then I was hospitalized for about a month in January 2013. When I came out of the hospital I was in a better place, and started to allow myself to form an attachment. We e-mailed and blogged, sometimes sending text messages if I really needed something. Recently, when we were trying to end a REALLY rough session, and I was next to hysterical and trying to walk out of her office, she tried to hug me, and I pulled away. Later, as I thought about it, I felt really guilty. She was attempting to give me the very thing that I needed and honestly wanted and yet I couldn't accept it. So, I decided to start being more open with, well, I guess with the experience. And what I think I did was allow myself to be hurt. After that interaction I put her on a pedestal and expected that she would be able to meet all my needs and, frankly, all my demands of her. I have become upset if I e-mail her and don't get responses. I get offended if our sessions only last 50 minutes, as routinely we go over the hour mark. What I need to realize is that I have two options in this situation: I either need to tell her what I am expecting and come to a common agreement OR I need to stop going from zero to 100 in two steps. Does that make any sense? I feel like I go from not wanting anything to wanting it all, and that's not fair to her or me. I need to be more realistic with myself, and have less expectations of her.
This is something that I am just starting to work on, especially since it might be what's going on right now and I am trying to work through it. Add it to the list of all my goals for this year....
Friday, July 19, 2013
Don’t let your struggle become your identity
I read that title today on Twitter. Then I re-tweeted it.
Then I thought about it. And thought about it some more.
I went and made lunch for L, Big A, and Little A
.
And I couldn't stop thinking about it. (Obsess much?)
I think that I am totally guilty of this. Totally and completely.
****
When my depression started to surface in 2011, I would have identified myself as a good mother, a passionate wife, an obedient daughter, a loyal sister, a successful employee, an awesome teacher. I would have highlighted successful and good and loyal.
But when I try to label myself now, the first thoughts that I normally have are depressed, suicidal, unworthy, unproductive member of society. Very much a big difference from what I used to be. And I think this is where I need to focus my efforts on, that I am not all of the negative terms that I call myself in my head. I need to stop identifying myself as such. Because, honestly, I am still a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an employee, a teacher. I am all of these things. I am just a person who does all these things along with working through Major Depressive Disorder.
But I am not Major Depressive Disorder. I have it, but it should not define me.
It's like when you have the stomach flu. You are still a mother, a wife, a partner, but you are down and out for a few days. You may not be performing at your best, but you are still YOU. Same for mental illness, you are still all the things you would otherwise identify with, there are just some extra hoops and hurdles to jump over.
I know this is one of those "easier sad than done" topics, and I am certainly no expert in the area. I think since maybe about October 2011 I have been solely identifying myself as someone with a mental illness. So, I need to learn and focus on how I can change my titles, my self-descriptors, so that they are a more accurate picture of who I am today.
I am a good enough mother.
I am compassionate and understanding wife.
I am a hard working employee.
I am a knowledge-rich teacher.
Then I thought about it. And thought about it some more.
I went and made lunch for L, Big A, and Little A
.
And I couldn't stop thinking about it. (Obsess much?)
I think that I am totally guilty of this. Totally and completely.
****
When my depression started to surface in 2011, I would have identified myself as a good mother, a passionate wife, an obedient daughter, a loyal sister, a successful employee, an awesome teacher. I would have highlighted successful and good and loyal.
But when I try to label myself now, the first thoughts that I normally have are depressed, suicidal, unworthy, unproductive member of society. Very much a big difference from what I used to be. And I think this is where I need to focus my efforts on, that I am not all of the negative terms that I call myself in my head. I need to stop identifying myself as such. Because, honestly, I am still a mother, a wife, a daughter, a sister, an employee, a teacher. I am all of these things. I am just a person who does all these things along with working through Major Depressive Disorder.
But I am not Major Depressive Disorder. I have it, but it should not define me.
It's like when you have the stomach flu. You are still a mother, a wife, a partner, but you are down and out for a few days. You may not be performing at your best, but you are still YOU. Same for mental illness, you are still all the things you would otherwise identify with, there are just some extra hoops and hurdles to jump over.
I know this is one of those "easier sad than done" topics, and I am certainly no expert in the area. I think since maybe about October 2011 I have been solely identifying myself as someone with a mental illness. So, I need to learn and focus on how I can change my titles, my self-descriptors, so that they are a more accurate picture of who I am today.
I am a good enough mother.
I am compassionate and understanding wife.
I am a hard working employee.
I am a knowledge-rich teacher.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
The Letter
She sat down to write her letter, a trusty glass of Tequila Rose sitting next to her. She didn't care that it was before 5 o'clock and her husband wasn't even home yet; she had occupied all of her kids and knew she had about 25 minutes of peace.
Opening her Outlook inbox with one hand and taking a big gulp of her tumbler with another, her mind flashed back to the session she had earlier in the day. The topic of her family came up, in a round about way, and the fact that this week marked the one year anniversary since "the fallout". She had stifled sobs and choked back tears as she tried to articulate her feelings to her therapist, but knew she was unsuccessful. Even diverting her eyes and trying to put other thoughts into her head had not let her escape from the painful memories. She had decided on an action plan after her therapist had shared a personal story that was parallel; she was going to write her family and let them know that it was time to "piss or get off the pot."
She would no longer allow herself to be a victim.
She would no longer allow herself to be trapped by their decisions that she didn't agree with.
She would no longer play their game.
A fresh screen opened on her laptop, a fresh screen full of possibilities. She could take the offensive approach, tell them they were all wrong and that they needed to start talking to her again. She could take the defensive approach and take all the blame for the situation and beg them to return to her. She took another drink of the sweet liquor-laced drink and decided to come up somewhere in the middle.
She typed for 10 minutes straight, just getting thoughts out of her head and intending on editing later.
Just write it out, she told herself, you'll feel better if you do.
Tears fell faster than she could wipe them away as her finger flew across the keys. She explained that she missed the family, she missed everything little and big that they did together. She explained that J's mom is sick, and how the reality of this was a shock and how much it made her want to reconnect. She paused momentarily and then typed the most painful part for her.
"This will be the last time I try and contact you."
And she knew it to be true. She knew that she could no longer live her life in limbo, waiting for her family of origin to decide that they wanted her back. She needed to take charge of her own life and take back some of her power. She needed to be the strong and independent woman that she was 3 years ago.
Taking a final swig of her glass, she edited her piece, mainly for spelling and punctuation errors as she was pleased with the text. She entered in the e-mail addresses, one by one, noticing that she was putting them in in age order without meaning to. She added her husband and her therapist to the BCC field, read over it one more time, took a deep breath and hit send.
It was done. Whatever was to come of it would be.
She pushed the keyboard back, laid her forehead on the table, and cried.
Opening her Outlook inbox with one hand and taking a big gulp of her tumbler with another, her mind flashed back to the session she had earlier in the day. The topic of her family came up, in a round about way, and the fact that this week marked the one year anniversary since "the fallout". She had stifled sobs and choked back tears as she tried to articulate her feelings to her therapist, but knew she was unsuccessful. Even diverting her eyes and trying to put other thoughts into her head had not let her escape from the painful memories. She had decided on an action plan after her therapist had shared a personal story that was parallel; she was going to write her family and let them know that it was time to "piss or get off the pot."
She would no longer allow herself to be a victim.
She would no longer allow herself to be trapped by their decisions that she didn't agree with.
She would no longer play their game.
A fresh screen opened on her laptop, a fresh screen full of possibilities. She could take the offensive approach, tell them they were all wrong and that they needed to start talking to her again. She could take the defensive approach and take all the blame for the situation and beg them to return to her. She took another drink of the sweet liquor-laced drink and decided to come up somewhere in the middle.
She typed for 10 minutes straight, just getting thoughts out of her head and intending on editing later.
Just write it out, she told herself, you'll feel better if you do.
Tears fell faster than she could wipe them away as her finger flew across the keys. She explained that she missed the family, she missed everything little and big that they did together. She explained that J's mom is sick, and how the reality of this was a shock and how much it made her want to reconnect. She paused momentarily and then typed the most painful part for her.
"This will be the last time I try and contact you."
And she knew it to be true. She knew that she could no longer live her life in limbo, waiting for her family of origin to decide that they wanted her back. She needed to take charge of her own life and take back some of her power. She needed to be the strong and independent woman that she was 3 years ago.
Taking a final swig of her glass, she edited her piece, mainly for spelling and punctuation errors as she was pleased with the text. She entered in the e-mail addresses, one by one, noticing that she was putting them in in age order without meaning to. She added her husband and her therapist to the BCC field, read over it one more time, took a deep breath and hit send.
It was done. Whatever was to come of it would be.
She pushed the keyboard back, laid her forehead on the table, and cried.
Wednesday, July 17, 2013
The Pain That Comes With Knowledge
As a society today, we have access to so much information. All it takes is a couple clicks on Google or Bing and we can read and learn about an infinite amount of topics. Sometimes that's good, like when you need directions on how to change a tire. Sometimes it bad, like when you spend the night researching your Mother-In-Laws new diagnosis and find that the prognosis is not good.
(read Heartbroken posted on July 16 if you haven't already to get caught up.)
So, N called last night when she was released from the hospital. The doctors decided that it was pointless, and expensive, to keep her overnight since my Father-In-Law is available to drive her to all her appointments. I was at a meeting at the kid's school when she called, and my husband, being strong as always, gave me the information when I got home.
Her pancreatic cancer is stage 2b. Basically, according to the research that I have done, that means that it has spread past her pancreas into her blood vessels and surrounding organs. Chances are high that it has also gotten into her lymph nodes. She has a CT scan for this morning to determine if surgery is possible, but it is only a 10% chance.
I looked at what I thought would be the most reliable website, The American Cancer Society, for more information. At stage 2b, she has a 5% chance of survival.
I slammed my laptop shut.
And did the most (il)logical thing I could think of. I filled a tall glass with Tequila Rose and just started to drink. Because, you know, drinking in a situation like this when you are on medication is the best thing to do. (I hope that you all can catch the sarcasm in that.)
Feeling light-headed and overly emotional, I laid in bed with my cell-phone and did something else that I am sure I will regret. I texted my Mom. I told her that N had cancer, how bad it was, and that I wanted this fight between the family to be over.
I am not sure why I did that. I think that I did it because learning about N's cancer has made me see that J and I are truly getting to that stage in our lives where the death of our parents is more of a reality. Thinking about either of my parents getting this diagnosis and me not knowing because we are not speaking, well, that would be too much. I want to see my mom, I want to give her a hug, I want her to be back in my kid's lives. I want to be able to call her up and talk to her about what is going on. I want to be able to turn to her when N is going through rough patches and lean on her for support. I want things to go back to how they were before I got sick.
Today is tough. I begged my husband to stay home, but he has tomorrow off of work to go out with his best friend so that just wasn't possible. I feel raw emotion sitting right at the surface, and I am trying not to cry because I don't know how I would explain it to the kids. I am praying this next hour until the Nanny gets here goes by quick. I want to crawl into my bed and nurse my wounds. I want to crawl under my covers and pray that the doctors find that they can operate on N and that her prognosis isn't as bad as first thought. I want to figure out how to be strong for J, for my family, for my extended family. I want to be a good man in a storm. I want this all to just go away.
(read Heartbroken posted on July 16 if you haven't already to get caught up.)
So, N called last night when she was released from the hospital. The doctors decided that it was pointless, and expensive, to keep her overnight since my Father-In-Law is available to drive her to all her appointments. I was at a meeting at the kid's school when she called, and my husband, being strong as always, gave me the information when I got home.
Her pancreatic cancer is stage 2b. Basically, according to the research that I have done, that means that it has spread past her pancreas into her blood vessels and surrounding organs. Chances are high that it has also gotten into her lymph nodes. She has a CT scan for this morning to determine if surgery is possible, but it is only a 10% chance.
I looked at what I thought would be the most reliable website, The American Cancer Society, for more information. At stage 2b, she has a 5% chance of survival.
I slammed my laptop shut.
And did the most (il)logical thing I could think of. I filled a tall glass with Tequila Rose and just started to drink. Because, you know, drinking in a situation like this when you are on medication is the best thing to do. (I hope that you all can catch the sarcasm in that.)
Feeling light-headed and overly emotional, I laid in bed with my cell-phone and did something else that I am sure I will regret. I texted my Mom. I told her that N had cancer, how bad it was, and that I wanted this fight between the family to be over.
I am not sure why I did that. I think that I did it because learning about N's cancer has made me see that J and I are truly getting to that stage in our lives where the death of our parents is more of a reality. Thinking about either of my parents getting this diagnosis and me not knowing because we are not speaking, well, that would be too much. I want to see my mom, I want to give her a hug, I want her to be back in my kid's lives. I want to be able to call her up and talk to her about what is going on. I want to be able to turn to her when N is going through rough patches and lean on her for support. I want things to go back to how they were before I got sick.
Today is tough. I begged my husband to stay home, but he has tomorrow off of work to go out with his best friend so that just wasn't possible. I feel raw emotion sitting right at the surface, and I am trying not to cry because I don't know how I would explain it to the kids. I am praying this next hour until the Nanny gets here goes by quick. I want to crawl into my bed and nurse my wounds. I want to crawl under my covers and pray that the doctors find that they can operate on N and that her prognosis isn't as bad as first thought. I want to figure out how to be strong for J, for my family, for my extended family. I want to be a good man in a storm. I want this all to just go away.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Heartbroken
Do you remember the first time that you felt heartbroken?
I think, for me, that it was when I asked Richard (Something) to Girl's Choice my freshman year. At first he said yes; I was elated! Then about a week or so later he came back and said he didn't want to go.
Heartbroken.
This past Sunday, J and I took the kids to my mother-in-law's house. We were looking for things to do, and her retirement village has an awesome pool where every Sunday they grill hot dogs. It got even better as N (mother-in-law) let us know that she asked J's sister and her two boys to join us. My kids love to play with their cousins every chance they get, and it turned out to be a wonderfully relaxing day.
While we were there, N and I sat under an umbrella and had some good conversation. She has been UBBER supportive of us through these past two years; I don't know what we would have done without her. Anyway, she was telling me that she hasn't been feeling good and had a series of doctor's appointments this week. On Monday she was going in for an ultrasound and bloodwork, and then would meet with her doctor a few hours later. Her doctor was thinking from her symptoms that it was kidney stones, and he wanted to see the location of them before they decided on treatment. She called me and left a message on Monday night; it wasn't kidney stones, and they weren't sure what it was, so they were sending her for more tests today. I breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that it was something much easier than what they originally thought.
It's not.
Tonight, as I was making hot dogs and cheesy broccoli for the kid's dinner, J's sister called. I knew it was bad because he took the phone and went out to the back porch. For those in the Chicagoland area, you know today is not a day to voluntarily go into this oppressive heat. After the kids were all settled, I went out to see what was up. I could tell by the look and my love's face that it wasn't good. I stood silent and waited for him to finish the call.
"It's pancreatic cancer," J said, trying hard to be strong. His eyes looked like could burst into tears, and as a hugged him it was almost as if I could feel his sadness seeping out through his chest.
"Dad is hysterical. They are doing more tests tomorrow to see how far it has spread and if surgery is an option."
I stood there, hands on my hips, imitating his fake strength. My head started spinning. I know that our parents are all in their 60's and these sort of things start happening now, but I am just not ready.
J and I chatted a little more, agreeing that we were not going to say anything to the kids until absolutely necessary, rearranging schedules for Friday since we are pretty sure that N will not be coming to watch the kids, and just trying to get our bearings. We hugged again, and came inside.
I immediately went to my computer and started to research, then quickly shut the computer as there was nothing good to read. It's always malignant. It has a low survival rate. It's one of the top 8 cancer-killers in the US.
Heartbroken. Absolutely heartbroken.
I think, for me, that it was when I asked Richard (Something) to Girl's Choice my freshman year. At first he said yes; I was elated! Then about a week or so later he came back and said he didn't want to go.
Heartbroken.
This past Sunday, J and I took the kids to my mother-in-law's house. We were looking for things to do, and her retirement village has an awesome pool where every Sunday they grill hot dogs. It got even better as N (mother-in-law) let us know that she asked J's sister and her two boys to join us. My kids love to play with their cousins every chance they get, and it turned out to be a wonderfully relaxing day.
While we were there, N and I sat under an umbrella and had some good conversation. She has been UBBER supportive of us through these past two years; I don't know what we would have done without her. Anyway, she was telling me that she hasn't been feeling good and had a series of doctor's appointments this week. On Monday she was going in for an ultrasound and bloodwork, and then would meet with her doctor a few hours later. Her doctor was thinking from her symptoms that it was kidney stones, and he wanted to see the location of them before they decided on treatment. She called me and left a message on Monday night; it wasn't kidney stones, and they weren't sure what it was, so they were sending her for more tests today. I breathed a sigh of relief and hoped that it was something much easier than what they originally thought.
It's not.
Tonight, as I was making hot dogs and cheesy broccoli for the kid's dinner, J's sister called. I knew it was bad because he took the phone and went out to the back porch. For those in the Chicagoland area, you know today is not a day to voluntarily go into this oppressive heat. After the kids were all settled, I went out to see what was up. I could tell by the look and my love's face that it wasn't good. I stood silent and waited for him to finish the call.
"It's pancreatic cancer," J said, trying hard to be strong. His eyes looked like could burst into tears, and as a hugged him it was almost as if I could feel his sadness seeping out through his chest.
"Dad is hysterical. They are doing more tests tomorrow to see how far it has spread and if surgery is an option."
I stood there, hands on my hips, imitating his fake strength. My head started spinning. I know that our parents are all in their 60's and these sort of things start happening now, but I am just not ready.
J and I chatted a little more, agreeing that we were not going to say anything to the kids until absolutely necessary, rearranging schedules for Friday since we are pretty sure that N will not be coming to watch the kids, and just trying to get our bearings. We hugged again, and came inside.
I immediately went to my computer and started to research, then quickly shut the computer as there was nothing good to read. It's always malignant. It has a low survival rate. It's one of the top 8 cancer-killers in the US.
Heartbroken. Absolutely heartbroken.
Sunday, July 14, 2013
The Pool
The water was warm. She stepped in up to her calves and enjoyed the ripples in the water as they danced about her legs. Two more steps into the pool and the it was at her thighs. Her swim dress played with the water, sashaying back and forth like a graceful dancer. She continued her decent, reaching the bottom of the pool with two more paces.
She leaned back and allowed her hair to get wet, using both her hands to make sure the water fully engulfed her hairline. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and eased her legs up towards the surface until she was floating. A sad smile played across her lips. While she had been longing for the experience of feeling free like the pool let her feel, her heart still felt trapped.
It had been days, perhaps weeks, since she had truly felt happy. On the outside to others she appeared to be in a good place; her boss had even complemented her on the fact that she seemed so happy to work with her demanding students. But that mask was a heavy burden to handle. Behind the facade, tears would stream down her face and make her gasp for air. Her heart felt like it had been crushed, stamped on, pulverized. She longed for the ability to stay in her bed, blankets pulled over her head to block any source of light.
She couldn't eat; while the food would go down her throat it ended with incredible stomach pains that made her not want to repeat the process. She wavered between not being able to sleep for days and sleeping for 15 hours or more at a time. The provocation of the later, she discovered, was the black, plastic bottle that laid in the fridge. Too tall for even the tallest shelf, her newly beloved, Tequila Rose, seemed to be the only thing that soothed her spirit. "It's just strawberry milk with a little kick," she convinced herself nightly as she over-poured her cup. Her husband looked at her with a disapproving glance, but knew better than to approach the subject.
Her eyes opened as a cloud passed over the sun and she was snapped out of her thoughts.
Thump, thump.
She felt her heart beating hard. It seemed to play like a loud radio under the water.
Thump, thump.
Her eyes filled with tears and she choked down a sob that tried to escape.
Thump, thump.
She turned over in the pool, floating face down, allowing her hair to float around her face. She remained there, the air that escaped from her lips creating a sea of bubbles that quickly raced to the surface.
Thump, thump.
Her lungs burned. Her air supply was gone and she knew that she needed to turn over and take a breath.
Thump, thump.
She couldn't will herself to do it. Her eyes popped open and frantically looked around.
Thump, thump.
She calmed herself internally. She refused to splash about and elected to let it happen on it's own.
Thump....thump...
She closed her eyes for the last time.
Thump............................
She leaned back and allowed her hair to get wet, using both her hands to make sure the water fully engulfed her hairline. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and eased her legs up towards the surface until she was floating. A sad smile played across her lips. While she had been longing for the experience of feeling free like the pool let her feel, her heart still felt trapped.
It had been days, perhaps weeks, since she had truly felt happy. On the outside to others she appeared to be in a good place; her boss had even complemented her on the fact that she seemed so happy to work with her demanding students. But that mask was a heavy burden to handle. Behind the facade, tears would stream down her face and make her gasp for air. Her heart felt like it had been crushed, stamped on, pulverized. She longed for the ability to stay in her bed, blankets pulled over her head to block any source of light.
She couldn't eat; while the food would go down her throat it ended with incredible stomach pains that made her not want to repeat the process. She wavered between not being able to sleep for days and sleeping for 15 hours or more at a time. The provocation of the later, she discovered, was the black, plastic bottle that laid in the fridge. Too tall for even the tallest shelf, her newly beloved, Tequila Rose, seemed to be the only thing that soothed her spirit. "It's just strawberry milk with a little kick," she convinced herself nightly as she over-poured her cup. Her husband looked at her with a disapproving glance, but knew better than to approach the subject.
Her eyes opened as a cloud passed over the sun and she was snapped out of her thoughts.
Thump, thump.
She felt her heart beating hard. It seemed to play like a loud radio under the water.
Thump, thump.
Her eyes filled with tears and she choked down a sob that tried to escape.
Thump, thump.
She turned over in the pool, floating face down, allowing her hair to float around her face. She remained there, the air that escaped from her lips creating a sea of bubbles that quickly raced to the surface.
Thump, thump.
Her lungs burned. Her air supply was gone and she knew that she needed to turn over and take a breath.
Thump, thump.
She couldn't will herself to do it. Her eyes popped open and frantically looked around.
Thump, thump.
She calmed herself internally. She refused to splash about and elected to let it happen on it's own.
Thump....thump...
She closed her eyes for the last time.
Thump............................
Saturday, July 13, 2013
Bittersweet
Yesterday was a tremendously bittersweet day for me.
I know that I have mentioned before that my family of origin is not speaking to me because they became frustrated and overwhelmed last year when I was going through my deepest bouts of depression. Well, the only person who has attempted to keep contact is my sister-in-law, my older brother's wife. We have been trying for months to get together, but with 5 active kids between us nailing down a date was difficult!
We were finally able to plan a swim date at their community pool yesterday, and it was wonderful! Her two kids, E (who is now 9) and W (who is 5) have grown so much! And they were overjoyed to have three hours to play with their cousins. We exchanged presents for missed birthdays, had lunch, and swam until my kids were ready to pass out. We did have to end it a bit early because Big A had a stomach ache and couldn't swim anymore (something that's still going on).
It was wonderful to reconnect. We never talked about the family and what's going on, but talked a lot about the kids and what they have been up to, plans for the remainder of summer, and worked on finding a date to meet up again.
Then, later last night, she sent me a message thanking me for coming. Even better then that was she said that it was important to her that the cousins keep getting together no matter who is talking to who. I must admit, it choked me up a little. My family was so close; we did everything together. having that missing for the past year has been horrible. On some level there has been benefits, it has allowed J and I to start building our own family traditions for holidays and birthdays, but it kills me that the kids have gone for so long without seeing my parents.
Today is Saturday and we are laying low as a family. The kids helped J wash both cars and I have been concentrating on getting this week's laundry done. Makes me shake my head with how quick clothes add up to large piles when there 5 people in a house! I am still having problems eating, I have been getting terrible stomach aches about 20 minutes after consuming anything, which makes me not want to eat anything. But today I have a little hope, thanks to yesterday's trip, that eventually everything will work out the way it's supposed to.
I know that I have mentioned before that my family of origin is not speaking to me because they became frustrated and overwhelmed last year when I was going through my deepest bouts of depression. Well, the only person who has attempted to keep contact is my sister-in-law, my older brother's wife. We have been trying for months to get together, but with 5 active kids between us nailing down a date was difficult!
We were finally able to plan a swim date at their community pool yesterday, and it was wonderful! Her two kids, E (who is now 9) and W (who is 5) have grown so much! And they were overjoyed to have three hours to play with their cousins. We exchanged presents for missed birthdays, had lunch, and swam until my kids were ready to pass out. We did have to end it a bit early because Big A had a stomach ache and couldn't swim anymore (something that's still going on).
It was wonderful to reconnect. We never talked about the family and what's going on, but talked a lot about the kids and what they have been up to, plans for the remainder of summer, and worked on finding a date to meet up again.
Then, later last night, she sent me a message thanking me for coming. Even better then that was she said that it was important to her that the cousins keep getting together no matter who is talking to who. I must admit, it choked me up a little. My family was so close; we did everything together. having that missing for the past year has been horrible. On some level there has been benefits, it has allowed J and I to start building our own family traditions for holidays and birthdays, but it kills me that the kids have gone for so long without seeing my parents.
Today is Saturday and we are laying low as a family. The kids helped J wash both cars and I have been concentrating on getting this week's laundry done. Makes me shake my head with how quick clothes add up to large piles when there 5 people in a house! I am still having problems eating, I have been getting terrible stomach aches about 20 minutes after consuming anything, which makes me not want to eat anything. But today I have a little hope, thanks to yesterday's trip, that eventually everything will work out the way it's supposed to.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Not in it to win it...
I don't want to write, which is why I am making myself.
The depression is starting to run deep. I got only a few hours of sleep last night and have been having terrible stomach pains whenever I try to eat.
Dr. H changed my meds today a bit. He wants me to drop the Latuda, keep the Wellbutrin and Klonopin, and add Abilify. And because things are going so rough he wants me back in a few weeks instead of the normal 3 months.
Right after him I had an appointment set with Dr. C. And I just didn't want to go. I was feeling sick, I was not in a good place, and overall I just didn't want to talk. So, I went, but I didn't talk. Which is totally counter productive. And she asked about the drinking, and I told her that it was under control, which it isn't but, again, I didn't want to get into it. Eventually she asked if I just wanted to leave and I said yes, so we ended about 20 minutes early. She asked that I e-mail or text her in a few days to let her know where I am at; we will see.
I realize that I have the power here, and that if I keep going down this path it will not end well. I will try to keep posting, try to keep positive, and try to keep on keeping on.
The depression is starting to run deep. I got only a few hours of sleep last night and have been having terrible stomach pains whenever I try to eat.
Dr. H changed my meds today a bit. He wants me to drop the Latuda, keep the Wellbutrin and Klonopin, and add Abilify. And because things are going so rough he wants me back in a few weeks instead of the normal 3 months.
Right after him I had an appointment set with Dr. C. And I just didn't want to go. I was feeling sick, I was not in a good place, and overall I just didn't want to talk. So, I went, but I didn't talk. Which is totally counter productive. And she asked about the drinking, and I told her that it was under control, which it isn't but, again, I didn't want to get into it. Eventually she asked if I just wanted to leave and I said yes, so we ended about 20 minutes early. She asked that I e-mail or text her in a few days to let her know where I am at; we will see.
I realize that I have the power here, and that if I keep going down this path it will not end well. I will try to keep posting, try to keep positive, and try to keep on keeping on.
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Broken Self-Imposed Rule
I had told myself when I started this blog that I was going to post
every day; I was going to keep it like a journal so that I could monitor
the ebbs and flows of my depression. Well, rule broken.
My depression runs on a 5-6 week cycle, from what I have been able to chart so far. And I am at the end of week 5, so I thought that I might have broken the cycle. I think I am wrong. Yesterday, depression set in like I haven't felt in a long time. The fatigue, the not caring, the praying just to make it through the day, the irritability. It's all back. I attempted to soothe myself with a drink or two (or three), bad idea. It just made the non-sleeping part worse, and I woke up this morning not really hungover, but certainly not feeling my best.
I think what has me the most worried about this cycle is the not caring part. In the past when I have gotten to the low stages of my cycle, I have at least cried or worried about bottoming out. Now, I just don't care. It's almost as if thinking about suicide doesn't even bother me. And, I'm thinking, that's not a good place to be in.
I did manage to make it to work today, just a short 4 hour shift, and my first 2 student appointments have already been no-shows, so I am basically just sitting in my empty office, left to think about this depression and how I can try to explain it to Dr. C tomorrow without worrying her. I also have an appointment with Dr. H to go over meds, especially important since I have not been able to stomach the Latuda and stopped taking it.
Nothing more to really blog about today...just praying that this feeling passes quickly and that tomorrow will be a better day.
My depression runs on a 5-6 week cycle, from what I have been able to chart so far. And I am at the end of week 5, so I thought that I might have broken the cycle. I think I am wrong. Yesterday, depression set in like I haven't felt in a long time. The fatigue, the not caring, the praying just to make it through the day, the irritability. It's all back. I attempted to soothe myself with a drink or two (or three), bad idea. It just made the non-sleeping part worse, and I woke up this morning not really hungover, but certainly not feeling my best.
I think what has me the most worried about this cycle is the not caring part. In the past when I have gotten to the low stages of my cycle, I have at least cried or worried about bottoming out. Now, I just don't care. It's almost as if thinking about suicide doesn't even bother me. And, I'm thinking, that's not a good place to be in.
I did manage to make it to work today, just a short 4 hour shift, and my first 2 student appointments have already been no-shows, so I am basically just sitting in my empty office, left to think about this depression and how I can try to explain it to Dr. C tomorrow without worrying her. I also have an appointment with Dr. H to go over meds, especially important since I have not been able to stomach the Latuda and stopped taking it.
Nothing more to really blog about today...just praying that this feeling passes quickly and that tomorrow will be a better day.
Monday, July 8, 2013
The Bar
The room was dimly lit, the small overhead lights casting shadows in the corner. It reeked of stale beer and fresh cigarette smoke, but not even the worst odors bothered her today. She was fixated, intent on just getting to a seat and having a drink. She found an empty stool at the bar, sat down, and waved over the bartender.
"What's your pleasure?" The bartender had a deep, raspy voice that sent a chill through her. She squinted at him, feeling like she had seen him somewhere, but she couldn't place him.
"Tequila Rose" she responded. He nodded his head, grabbed a short glass, and poured an overly generous amount.
"Bottoms up," he said with a smile as he placed it in front of her. She raised her drink in a toast, and took a gulp. The sweet strawberry liquor slid down her throat easily with a small after-burn from the tequila. She closed her eyes and savored the taste.
Keeping her eyes closed, she thought about the day. Not a good day, she reflected. She had awakened to thunder and rain, wanting to just roll over and pull the covers up tight. But there were things to do, so that just wasn't in the cards. Laundry, dishes, work; they all seemed like simple tasks individually, but put together it was overwhelming. The depression was back, and she knew if she didn't motivate herself to get moving and take a shower that the morning before work would a wash. But motivation was not to be found; she grabbed her phone from the bedside and clicked on her Netflix app. Settling under the covers, she streamed several episodes of "SisterWives" and allowed herself to get lost in the pain of other for a few hours.
Opening her eyes and taking a deep breath, she took another taste. She started to feel warmth all over her body, the comfortable presence of alcohol streaming through her veins. She looked again at the bartender, intent on figuring out how she knew him. She studied his shaggy hair cut, the hair that she could see peeking out from beneath his long sleeved shirt, the devilish smile that he threw to her from down the counter. She just couldn't place him. Was he a student at her school? A colleague with a night job? Did she go to high school with him?
One more swallow and she emptied her glass. She put it back on the counter with a clink, and he sauntered back down the bar.
"One more?" he asked.
She nodded her head in response.
"This one's on the house," he stated as he again filled the glass beyond the normal limit.
"I feel like I know you," she said hesitantly.
"Really," he responded with a smile. "I am pretty sure you do."
She cocked her head to the side and looked again. His eyes burned into her. It was almost as if there was a flash of light and an image flashed before her. Eyes widening, she shook her head as if to erase the image. She felt iciness stream through her arms and legs as goosebumps appeared. The image was of her dreaded Lion; the Lion that came to taunt her whenever things were about to get really bad. Her mind raced. She thought for sure she was imagining things. Maybe she had had too much to drink. Maybe it was lack of sleep and too much pressure. A touch on her arm from him pulled her back into reality.
"You remember me," he smirked. His hand remained in place and she was frozen. The Lion, her Lion, was like poison to her soul.
"Don't touch me," she whispered, but she found she was not able to move her arm away. He was mesmerizing.
"How we need another soul to cling to," he quoted from Sylvia Plath.
She caught her breath They had been down this path before, throwing Plath quotes back and forth. He had won; she had almost lost her life.
"I won't do this again," she said under her breath.
He started to laugh, a laugh deep from his belly that had an eerie tone to it. Tension raised in her whole body; she stood up to leave the bar.
"I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood," he quoted Plath again he grabbed her hand.
She stopped in her tracks. She didn't have the energy, the will, the drive to fight today. He continued to hold onto her hand, and gently tugged on it to get her to return to the bar. Dumbfounded, she turned around and sat back down. She knew she could not win. She knew she wasn't strong enough. And she knew the Lion knew all of this.
He nudged the glass of Tequila Rose closer to her.
"Just drink," he stated in a victorious tone. He was well aware of the fact that if he could just get her to drink some more, she would be his. He took a towel and began to wipe down the counter. She followed his direction and finished the glass in one shot. She hung her head, defeated, empty, a shell of who she used to be.
She thought for a moment, and her own Plath quote coming to mind. "I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. "
Tears escaped from her eyes.
"I am done," she whispered to herself. She laid her head down on the bar and closed her eyes once more.
"What's your pleasure?" The bartender had a deep, raspy voice that sent a chill through her. She squinted at him, feeling like she had seen him somewhere, but she couldn't place him.
"Tequila Rose" she responded. He nodded his head, grabbed a short glass, and poured an overly generous amount.
"Bottoms up," he said with a smile as he placed it in front of her. She raised her drink in a toast, and took a gulp. The sweet strawberry liquor slid down her throat easily with a small after-burn from the tequila. She closed her eyes and savored the taste.
Keeping her eyes closed, she thought about the day. Not a good day, she reflected. She had awakened to thunder and rain, wanting to just roll over and pull the covers up tight. But there were things to do, so that just wasn't in the cards. Laundry, dishes, work; they all seemed like simple tasks individually, but put together it was overwhelming. The depression was back, and she knew if she didn't motivate herself to get moving and take a shower that the morning before work would a wash. But motivation was not to be found; she grabbed her phone from the bedside and clicked on her Netflix app. Settling under the covers, she streamed several episodes of "SisterWives" and allowed herself to get lost in the pain of other for a few hours.
Opening her eyes and taking a deep breath, she took another taste. She started to feel warmth all over her body, the comfortable presence of alcohol streaming through her veins. She looked again at the bartender, intent on figuring out how she knew him. She studied his shaggy hair cut, the hair that she could see peeking out from beneath his long sleeved shirt, the devilish smile that he threw to her from down the counter. She just couldn't place him. Was he a student at her school? A colleague with a night job? Did she go to high school with him?
One more swallow and she emptied her glass. She put it back on the counter with a clink, and he sauntered back down the bar.
"One more?" he asked.
She nodded her head in response.
"This one's on the house," he stated as he again filled the glass beyond the normal limit.
"I feel like I know you," she said hesitantly.
"Really," he responded with a smile. "I am pretty sure you do."
She cocked her head to the side and looked again. His eyes burned into her. It was almost as if there was a flash of light and an image flashed before her. Eyes widening, she shook her head as if to erase the image. She felt iciness stream through her arms and legs as goosebumps appeared. The image was of her dreaded Lion; the Lion that came to taunt her whenever things were about to get really bad. Her mind raced. She thought for sure she was imagining things. Maybe she had had too much to drink. Maybe it was lack of sleep and too much pressure. A touch on her arm from him pulled her back into reality.
"You remember me," he smirked. His hand remained in place and she was frozen. The Lion, her Lion, was like poison to her soul.
"Don't touch me," she whispered, but she found she was not able to move her arm away. He was mesmerizing.
"How we need another soul to cling to," he quoted from Sylvia Plath.
She caught her breath They had been down this path before, throwing Plath quotes back and forth. He had won; she had almost lost her life.
"I won't do this again," she said under her breath.
He started to laugh, a laugh deep from his belly that had an eerie tone to it. Tension raised in her whole body; she stood up to leave the bar.
"I have a violence in me that is hot as death-blood," he quoted Plath again he grabbed her hand.
She stopped in her tracks. She didn't have the energy, the will, the drive to fight today. He continued to hold onto her hand, and gently tugged on it to get her to return to the bar. Dumbfounded, she turned around and sat back down. She knew she could not win. She knew she wasn't strong enough. And she knew the Lion knew all of this.
He nudged the glass of Tequila Rose closer to her.
"Just drink," he stated in a victorious tone. He was well aware of the fact that if he could just get her to drink some more, she would be his. He took a towel and began to wipe down the counter. She followed his direction and finished the glass in one shot. She hung her head, defeated, empty, a shell of who she used to be.
She thought for a moment, and her own Plath quote coming to mind. "I want to kill myself, to escape from responsibility, to crawl back abjectly into the womb. "
Tears escaped from her eyes.
"I am done," she whispered to herself. She laid her head down on the bar and closed her eyes once more.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
Slow Day
It's Sunday and, as usual, things are calm in our house. No one was out of jammies before noon, Little A took a good, long nap, L and Big A got to go to Toys R Us to spend birthday gift cards. J has now taken all three kids on a walk in the forest, and I get to relax before the whirlwind of evening activities start.
I am sad that I am out of episodes of Army Wives to watch, but I have started to stream Sister Wives through Netflix. It's an addiction, I know, but it's so much fun to watch someone else's story and see what goes on in their lives. It's like being a Peeping Tom, but doing it legally.
I am sad, however, because tomorrow my cousin will be giving birth to her second child. And because of the division in the family, I won't be there to see the baby. I am sure that I will see pictures via Facebook, but it's really not the same. Some days this whole "alienation" thing really bugs me, like when things like this are happening. I grew up with my cousins like we were siblings, and now because 1 person in my family had an issue with my depression, everyone has had to choose sides, and I have been left alone; abandoned by all the people who I have thought loved me throughout the years.
Not a lot else to say...tomorrow is back to the comfortable schedule of the work-week, nanny will be here, the kids will play all morning and swim all afternoon, then pass out after dinner. I do have an appointment with Dr. H this week which is good because since I have stopped the Latuda (it causes severe stomach cramps) I am able to see that the Wellbutrin does not do enough on it's own. I also have an appointment with Dr. C, which could be interesting. Last night, I might have had a few shots of Tequila Rose and then I might have accidentally texted her instead of J, stating that I was ready for more shots...don't think that's going to go over real well. It is what it is, and I am sure that I will survive.
Good night for now, if anything interesting happens I will be sure to come back and tell you all about it!
I am sad that I am out of episodes of Army Wives to watch, but I have started to stream Sister Wives through Netflix. It's an addiction, I know, but it's so much fun to watch someone else's story and see what goes on in their lives. It's like being a Peeping Tom, but doing it legally.
I am sad, however, because tomorrow my cousin will be giving birth to her second child. And because of the division in the family, I won't be there to see the baby. I am sure that I will see pictures via Facebook, but it's really not the same. Some days this whole "alienation" thing really bugs me, like when things like this are happening. I grew up with my cousins like we were siblings, and now because 1 person in my family had an issue with my depression, everyone has had to choose sides, and I have been left alone; abandoned by all the people who I have thought loved me throughout the years.
Not a lot else to say...tomorrow is back to the comfortable schedule of the work-week, nanny will be here, the kids will play all morning and swim all afternoon, then pass out after dinner. I do have an appointment with Dr. H this week which is good because since I have stopped the Latuda (it causes severe stomach cramps) I am able to see that the Wellbutrin does not do enough on it's own. I also have an appointment with Dr. C, which could be interesting. Last night, I might have had a few shots of Tequila Rose and then I might have accidentally texted her instead of J, stating that I was ready for more shots...don't think that's going to go over real well. It is what it is, and I am sure that I will survive.
Good night for now, if anything interesting happens I will be sure to come back and tell you all about it!
Saturday, July 6, 2013
Some Days
Some days are good, and we laugh and smile and wonder if things are finally headed upwards.
Some days are not so good, and we write good-bye letters in our heads and wonder what the best way to end it would be.
Some days we want to give up, throw in the towel, cry out that we have done enough and can handle no more.
Some days are peaceful; we can be reflective and see where this rocky journey has taken us.
Some days we try to change, whether that is hairstyle or lifestyle or something more dramatic.
Some days all we can do is hold on, to the ones we love, to our head as we pound it on the wall, to what's left of our sanity.
Some days we count days, until our next therapy appointment, how many days since we were last hospitalized, how many days in our depression cycle we have left before we bottom out.
Some days we just simply cry, for no reason, without wanting comfort.
Some days the slice of a knife across our arms in more soothing than even the warmest of blankets.
Some days the burn of alcohol takes us to a happy place where we forget that some days we just want to die.
Some days are not so good, and we write good-bye letters in our heads and wonder what the best way to end it would be.
Some days we want to give up, throw in the towel, cry out that we have done enough and can handle no more.
Some days are peaceful; we can be reflective and see where this rocky journey has taken us.
Some days we try to change, whether that is hairstyle or lifestyle or something more dramatic.
Some days all we can do is hold on, to the ones we love, to our head as we pound it on the wall, to what's left of our sanity.
Some days we count days, until our next therapy appointment, how many days since we were last hospitalized, how many days in our depression cycle we have left before we bottom out.
Some days we just simply cry, for no reason, without wanting comfort.
Some days the slice of a knife across our arms in more soothing than even the warmest of blankets.
Some days the burn of alcohol takes us to a happy place where we forget that some days we just want to die.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Me and Jose
So I became pretty good friends last night with Jose. Jose Cuarvo that is. (Did I spell that right?) 4th of July. J's family came over. His best-friend-might-as-well-be-a-brother came over with his wife. And some limes. So we drank. And drank. And then, when we were thirsty, we drank a little more. And the thing was, they were only here for about 3 hours. Was just supposed to be a small BBQ and then a trip to see fireworks. Well, J took the kids, I passed out. Nice. *shakes head*
Today was my session with Dr. C. And, of course, I woke up totally hungover. Which shouldn't really be a problem, except that I saw her hungover three weeks ago, the day after Father's Day when I had too much to drink. I showered and got dressed the best I could between bouts of extreme nausea, forced down some water and toast, and headed out. Half-way there I get a text from Dr. C that they are painting the office and we can either meet at a local McD's or cancel. Well, since I have already gone through so much effort, I agreed to the McD's. Just walking in and smelling all the food made my stomach do more flips-flops then in did during all three of my pregnancies combined.
Because we were sitting in the middle of a restaurant, I didn't want to launch into a rant about just how bad my depression is. We joked, a little, about my hang-over, but I don't think that she was really too happy about it. We talked a little about how my job has gone from 4 days a week to 2, and how financially that has been a challenge. We talked a lot about J's and my relationship and how I can make some small changes to get it back to where we were. And just as I thought I was going to be able to fly under the radar and leave without talking about depression, she asks me what was up. I told her, in as lighthearted of a manner as I could muster. I just said that I thought the depression was coming back, that I didn't have much of an appetite, that I was secluding in my bedroom more. And I left it at that. I didn't bring up the suicidal thoughts, how my mind has begun composing "good-bye" letters again, the numbness that I was feeling. I think that if we had been sitting in her office I might have, but I couldn't let myself go there in a public place. She gave me a few things to try and break the isolation and spend a little more time with the kids, and I agreed to try them this week. We confirmed our date change for next week, and I left.
And now I kick myself. Why do we do that? Why do we have the opportunity to sit with someone who is totally focused on us and we don't use it the best that we can? Why do we, or why do I, choose to stuff what I am thinking and feeling when I know that it will only make things worse? Dr. C has already told me on more than one occasion that as long as I don't say that I am going to leave her office and kill myself that she will not hospitalize me. But the fear is already ingrained. The fear developed from past times I have trusted doctors only to be shipped off to inpatient units for weeks at a time. The fear that telling someone what is going on in my head makes it more true somehow. It also feels like it is my little secret, and I don't know that I want to share it. Sounds weird, and I don't know if I am even explaining it right.
Anyway, 6 more days until I get to meet with her again, and I am hoping that by that time either the depression will be better or I will be able to be honest. Because I know that keeping the secret will one day kill me.
Today was my session with Dr. C. And, of course, I woke up totally hungover. Which shouldn't really be a problem, except that I saw her hungover three weeks ago, the day after Father's Day when I had too much to drink. I showered and got dressed the best I could between bouts of extreme nausea, forced down some water and toast, and headed out. Half-way there I get a text from Dr. C that they are painting the office and we can either meet at a local McD's or cancel. Well, since I have already gone through so much effort, I agreed to the McD's. Just walking in and smelling all the food made my stomach do more flips-flops then in did during all three of my pregnancies combined.
Because we were sitting in the middle of a restaurant, I didn't want to launch into a rant about just how bad my depression is. We joked, a little, about my hang-over, but I don't think that she was really too happy about it. We talked a little about how my job has gone from 4 days a week to 2, and how financially that has been a challenge. We talked a lot about J's and my relationship and how I can make some small changes to get it back to where we were. And just as I thought I was going to be able to fly under the radar and leave without talking about depression, she asks me what was up. I told her, in as lighthearted of a manner as I could muster. I just said that I thought the depression was coming back, that I didn't have much of an appetite, that I was secluding in my bedroom more. And I left it at that. I didn't bring up the suicidal thoughts, how my mind has begun composing "good-bye" letters again, the numbness that I was feeling. I think that if we had been sitting in her office I might have, but I couldn't let myself go there in a public place. She gave me a few things to try and break the isolation and spend a little more time with the kids, and I agreed to try them this week. We confirmed our date change for next week, and I left.
And now I kick myself. Why do we do that? Why do we have the opportunity to sit with someone who is totally focused on us and we don't use it the best that we can? Why do we, or why do I, choose to stuff what I am thinking and feeling when I know that it will only make things worse? Dr. C has already told me on more than one occasion that as long as I don't say that I am going to leave her office and kill myself that she will not hospitalize me. But the fear is already ingrained. The fear developed from past times I have trusted doctors only to be shipped off to inpatient units for weeks at a time. The fear that telling someone what is going on in my head makes it more true somehow. It also feels like it is my little secret, and I don't know that I want to share it. Sounds weird, and I don't know if I am even explaining it right.
Anyway, 6 more days until I get to meet with her again, and I am hoping that by that time either the depression will be better or I will be able to be honest. Because I know that keeping the secret will one day kill me.
Wednesday, July 3, 2013
So, I am sitting at work...
So, I am sitting at work and my mind is racing. My last 2 student appointments have not show. It is, after all July 3rd and my guess is most people are already starting vacations versus wanting to come in to register for Fall Classes.
I was hoping for a busy day at work to ease my mind. It's not here. I popped a Klonopin before I even started the work day because I was already overly-anxious. It's not helping. I am here now to try and type it out, to get it out into cyber-space, in the hopes that it will help calm and relax me.
I am pretty familiar with my "levels" of depression. Level 1 is just feeling crummy, but able to get up and do stuff with a smile. Level 2, drop that smile and grumble and complain that everything is too difficult and refuse to do even the simplest of chores. Level 3, start withdrawing, stop talking to J, talk with a harsher tone to the kids, eat everything in site. Level 4, stay in bed for as long as possible, stop eating, start making not-so-good plans in my head. Level 5, full on meltdown, refusing to speak even to Dr. C, thoughts totally consumed with suicide and self-injury.
Today, I am at Level 4. Not good. Not good at all.
I have been taking my morning meds, although I HAD to stop the Latuda because the side-effects were overwhelming. I have an appointment with Dr. H in a week, and hope that he can find an alternative. I don't think the Wellbutrin alone is working.
I have had major issues bot yesterday and today with eating. I just can't do it. I feel sick to my stomach and the thought of putting food in there makes me want to gag. And this is from a chronic over-eater. Not good. Not good at all.
I have two more days before I have an appointment with Dr. C. I am trying to avoid e-mailing her, sometimes it just seems like the e-mails are a pathetic waste of time. I am sure they come across whiny and juvenile, and besides, I don't have the energy for it.
T-minus 3 hours and counting until I can get back into bed, put ArmyWives on Netflix, and just forget about the day. Right now, it can't come soon enough.
I was hoping for a busy day at work to ease my mind. It's not here. I popped a Klonopin before I even started the work day because I was already overly-anxious. It's not helping. I am here now to try and type it out, to get it out into cyber-space, in the hopes that it will help calm and relax me.
I am pretty familiar with my "levels" of depression. Level 1 is just feeling crummy, but able to get up and do stuff with a smile. Level 2, drop that smile and grumble and complain that everything is too difficult and refuse to do even the simplest of chores. Level 3, start withdrawing, stop talking to J, talk with a harsher tone to the kids, eat everything in site. Level 4, stay in bed for as long as possible, stop eating, start making not-so-good plans in my head. Level 5, full on meltdown, refusing to speak even to Dr. C, thoughts totally consumed with suicide and self-injury.
Today, I am at Level 4. Not good. Not good at all.
I have been taking my morning meds, although I HAD to stop the Latuda because the side-effects were overwhelming. I have an appointment with Dr. H in a week, and hope that he can find an alternative. I don't think the Wellbutrin alone is working.
I have had major issues bot yesterday and today with eating. I just can't do it. I feel sick to my stomach and the thought of putting food in there makes me want to gag. And this is from a chronic over-eater. Not good. Not good at all.
I have two more days before I have an appointment with Dr. C. I am trying to avoid e-mailing her, sometimes it just seems like the e-mails are a pathetic waste of time. I am sure they come across whiny and juvenile, and besides, I don't have the energy for it.
T-minus 3 hours and counting until I can get back into bed, put ArmyWives on Netflix, and just forget about the day. Right now, it can't come soon enough.
Working away the depression
It's 7:30AM and oddly quiet in the house. Usually by now Little A is awake and asking for breakfast and RescueBots on the living room TV. And it's not like they did an extensive amount of exercising or playing yesterday that has exhausted them. Weather in Chicago is being, well, it's Chicago weather. It's never predictable and usually off-season. Meaning, it's July 3rd and the high is 72 with rain all day. Shouldn't we be into the 90's by now?
Yesterday marked the start of my diminished work-week. When I was hired at the local Community College as an academic advisor, my position was called "Casual advisor", meaning less than part-time. Two months ago when I started, I was thankful that it would be about 9-10 hours a week. Since I had been out of work for 18 months, I thought this would be a great way to slide back in. Then my supervisor offered for the position to go up to 25 hours a week due to it being a busy registration time, and I thought about the money I would make and agreed. But, part of the deal is that I would go back to 9 hours starting July 1st, the new fiscal year. So, I didn't work yesterday. And it drove me CRAZY!
Before all this happened, and I don't know if I have talked about it here or not, I was both an adjunct faculty member and an academic advisor for a nation-wide, for-profit university. I taught my classes, Critical Thinking, on-line and it fit in perfect with my schedule. I could work all day, come home, do dinner, put the kids to bed, and then teach. But everything dropped with the depression. And I was pretty sure that I would never be able to get my career back on track. Starting work at this college was a step in the right direction. And while I was concerned that mentally I wouldn't be able to handle working, it turned out to be so good for me that I was busy again. I didn't have time to think about depression so much when I was working. I was getting out of the house which was forcing me to shower and dress on a daily basis. I was meeting new people. And, as luck would have it, my job is literally 5 minutes from where J works so we were able to do lunches together. I know that that helped bring back so intimacy that our relationship was lacking.
But now I am down to 9 hours a week, and being home all day yesterday was, well, odd. Not that I don't enjoy being with my kids, but I have been fighting the Depression Lion this week and the last thing I needed was a day in pj's watching ArmyWives. I did get up and shower about noon as L and Big A had their annual check-ups, but I also still had the nanny come and she spent the morning and the remainder of the afternoon with them. And then as I crawled into bed at the same time as the kids, about 8PM, I realized that I had broken my thou-must-blog-every-day command. I was disappointed in myself, but did not have the energy to get up and post.
So, here I sit, early morning, alone (still! I am shocked) with my computer in the kitchen. I see a stack of last night's, well, honestly, the last two night's dishes on the kitchen counter and I know I need to get those in the dishwasher before the nanny gets here. I am pretty sure that I need to do a load of laundry if my kids are to have clean clothes to wear. I am positive that I need to do laundry for me if I am going to have clothes to wear to work. My mind is spinning on the amount of cleaning that needs to be done before we host a 4th of July BBQ tomorrow. And I have zero motivation.
Sigh.
Depression sucks.
Yesterday marked the start of my diminished work-week. When I was hired at the local Community College as an academic advisor, my position was called "Casual advisor", meaning less than part-time. Two months ago when I started, I was thankful that it would be about 9-10 hours a week. Since I had been out of work for 18 months, I thought this would be a great way to slide back in. Then my supervisor offered for the position to go up to 25 hours a week due to it being a busy registration time, and I thought about the money I would make and agreed. But, part of the deal is that I would go back to 9 hours starting July 1st, the new fiscal year. So, I didn't work yesterday. And it drove me CRAZY!
Before all this happened, and I don't know if I have talked about it here or not, I was both an adjunct faculty member and an academic advisor for a nation-wide, for-profit university. I taught my classes, Critical Thinking, on-line and it fit in perfect with my schedule. I could work all day, come home, do dinner, put the kids to bed, and then teach. But everything dropped with the depression. And I was pretty sure that I would never be able to get my career back on track. Starting work at this college was a step in the right direction. And while I was concerned that mentally I wouldn't be able to handle working, it turned out to be so good for me that I was busy again. I didn't have time to think about depression so much when I was working. I was getting out of the house which was forcing me to shower and dress on a daily basis. I was meeting new people. And, as luck would have it, my job is literally 5 minutes from where J works so we were able to do lunches together. I know that that helped bring back so intimacy that our relationship was lacking.
But now I am down to 9 hours a week, and being home all day yesterday was, well, odd. Not that I don't enjoy being with my kids, but I have been fighting the Depression Lion this week and the last thing I needed was a day in pj's watching ArmyWives. I did get up and shower about noon as L and Big A had their annual check-ups, but I also still had the nanny come and she spent the morning and the remainder of the afternoon with them. And then as I crawled into bed at the same time as the kids, about 8PM, I realized that I had broken my thou-must-blog-every-day command. I was disappointed in myself, but did not have the energy to get up and post.
So, here I sit, early morning, alone (still! I am shocked) with my computer in the kitchen. I see a stack of last night's, well, honestly, the last two night's dishes on the kitchen counter and I know I need to get those in the dishwasher before the nanny gets here. I am pretty sure that I need to do a load of laundry if my kids are to have clean clothes to wear. I am positive that I need to do laundry for me if I am going to have clothes to wear to work. My mind is spinning on the amount of cleaning that needs to be done before we host a 4th of July BBQ tomorrow. And I have zero motivation.
Sigh.
Depression sucks.
Monday, July 1, 2013
The Fight
Depression lies. Depression lies, Depression lies.
Dr. C tells me this all the time. That depression lies. It tells me things that are not true, but its voice is so strong that I believe it to be true. Today is a "depression lies" day. I am battling that demon in my head that is whispering negative thoughts. It wants me to be sad, it wants me to fail, it wants to dominate. I have often compared it to a Lion. In fact, I have done some creative writing with Dr. C where I have given "the Lion" a personality and tried to express my thoughts and feelings through that outlet. I thought that I would share one of those pieces for a few reasons...1. I am really trying to keep blogging daily and I don't have a lot else to say and 2. It pretty much sums up how I am feeling right now.
The Fight
The book lay open on the floor. He lazed on his stomach, reading the lines and smirking with each quote. This was too much fun for him. He thought that he hadn't had this much fun since he was a cub on Christmas morning. Eagerly, he pawed at each page and enjoyed the poetry that flowed like a river. He looked over at where she was. Happiness filled his chest. She was just where he wanted, and he took pride in knowing that he was accomplishing his goal.
"Death must be so beautiful," he read to her. "To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and to listen to the silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."
She jerked on the bed, struggling against the prose. He had shackled her hands and feet tightly; she had limited movement. She was trying to fight against the sadness that he was pouring into her soul. Her attempts to block the words were futile, and she felt her spirit shriveling with each stanza.
"I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life,” she spat back at him. She didn't need a book to recite the quotes. They were imprinted in her being, and she searched the quickly to find the ammunition that was much needed. He was king of his craft, however, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could go on.
He snapped his head up. Anger boiled in his blood. How dare she try to combat his words! He quickly turned the pages is search of more poison. "I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.”
Each word pierced her soul like a dagger. The tears flowed down her cheeks. She kept telling herself to fight, that she could not give in. She must continue to fight. The handcuffs dug into her flesh, but it was not the outside pain that she was worried about. Those scars could heal. She needed to protect what was left inside.
"I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.” She breathed the words heavily, feeling like she was being choked with each syllable.
He took a moment to look at her. So sad, he thought. She didn't have a chance and yet there she lay trying to fight against him. At least he had picked someone with spunk, he mused. If he had selected prey that would have just rolled over and died, well, that would have been no fun. He turned his attention back to the book, and searched for the next quote.
"I have taken a pill to kill the thin papery feeling,” he roared.
Her back arched, the words burning. Her defenses were weakening, she knew that she couldn't take much more. One more, she thought, I only have energy for one more. She would have prayed that it worked, except she didn't believe in the power of prayer any longer. It had been too long since any of her prayers had been answered that she found the act pointless. She lifted her head and looked the Lion right in his eyes.
"I think I made you up inside my head.” She collapsed back on the bed. That was all she had. She couldn't speak; she could fight no more.
He leaped from his spot and pounced on top of her. Straddling her frail being, he looked down at what was left. Just a shell, a wisp of where a woman used to be.
"All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.” The words flowed from his tongue. Pride swelled in his chest. He took a final swipe at her body with his paw to make sure she was done. She made no movement. He retreated to his corner, curled into a ball, and rested his head on the ground. He had won.
Dr. C tells me this all the time. That depression lies. It tells me things that are not true, but its voice is so strong that I believe it to be true. Today is a "depression lies" day. I am battling that demon in my head that is whispering negative thoughts. It wants me to be sad, it wants me to fail, it wants to dominate. I have often compared it to a Lion. In fact, I have done some creative writing with Dr. C where I have given "the Lion" a personality and tried to express my thoughts and feelings through that outlet. I thought that I would share one of those pieces for a few reasons...1. I am really trying to keep blogging daily and I don't have a lot else to say and 2. It pretty much sums up how I am feeling right now.
The Fight
The book lay open on the floor. He lazed on his stomach, reading the lines and smirking with each quote. This was too much fun for him. He thought that he hadn't had this much fun since he was a cub on Christmas morning. Eagerly, he pawed at each page and enjoyed the poetry that flowed like a river. He looked over at where she was. Happiness filled his chest. She was just where he wanted, and he took pride in knowing that he was accomplishing his goal.
"Death must be so beautiful," he read to her. "To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and to listen to the silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace."
She jerked on the bed, struggling against the prose. He had shackled her hands and feet tightly; she had limited movement. She was trying to fight against the sadness that he was pouring into her soul. Her attempts to block the words were futile, and she felt her spirit shriveling with each stanza.
"I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life,” she spat back at him. She didn't need a book to recite the quotes. They were imprinted in her being, and she searched the quickly to find the ammunition that was much needed. He was king of his craft, however, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could go on.
He snapped his head up. Anger boiled in his blood. How dare she try to combat his words! He quickly turned the pages is search of more poison. "I couldn’t see the point of getting up. I had nothing to look forward to.”
Each word pierced her soul like a dagger. The tears flowed down her cheeks. She kept telling herself to fight, that she could not give in. She must continue to fight. The handcuffs dug into her flesh, but it was not the outside pain that she was worried about. Those scars could heal. She needed to protect what was left inside.
"I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.” She breathed the words heavily, feeling like she was being choked with each syllable.
He took a moment to look at her. So sad, he thought. She didn't have a chance and yet there she lay trying to fight against him. At least he had picked someone with spunk, he mused. If he had selected prey that would have just rolled over and died, well, that would have been no fun. He turned his attention back to the book, and searched for the next quote.
"I have taken a pill to kill the thin papery feeling,” he roared.
Her back arched, the words burning. Her defenses were weakening, she knew that she couldn't take much more. One more, she thought, I only have energy for one more. She would have prayed that it worked, except she didn't believe in the power of prayer any longer. It had been too long since any of her prayers had been answered that she found the act pointless. She lifted her head and looked the Lion right in his eyes.
"I think I made you up inside my head.” She collapsed back on the bed. That was all she had. She couldn't speak; she could fight no more.
He leaped from his spot and pounced on top of her. Straddling her frail being, he looked down at what was left. Just a shell, a wisp of where a woman used to be.
"All I want is blackness. Blackness and silence.” The words flowed from his tongue. Pride swelled in his chest. He took a final swipe at her body with his paw to make sure she was done. She made no movement. He retreated to his corner, curled into a ball, and rested his head on the ground. He had won.
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