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.

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!

In the middle...

Phew....deep breath.  And to pick up where we left off yesterday....

So, I was ruined.  I had tried to go back to work, but I couldn't concentrate, couldn't stop crying, couldn't function at home.  I felt like a total failure.  So, I was pulled from work and onto disability AGAIN, and placed back in the day program at hospital B.  Out of frustration, confusion, whatever, I stopped talking.  I just couldn't I felt like no matter what I said I was only making things worse, and I couldn't risk being honest with anyone.  I didn't feel safe, like I could trust anyone.  So I stopped.

Well, apparently, they don't like it when you stop talking and so I was forced back to inpatient.  And, once again, the hospital that I preferred was full.  Now I am shipped to hospital D.  And, it turns out, this was a Godsend at this time.  The doctor that I was assigned to did not agree with the fact that I was hospitalized, and asked me to stay for just 2 days while they adjusted my medications.  She also asked that I try a day program at their hospital that specialized in CBT.  At this point I felt that I had nothing to loose, so I agreed.  And it was great.  The staff were great, the other clients were great.  I felt comfortable enough to start talking again, and completed the program in about two months.  And, the best part for me, was that when I left I was given a letter of clearance to have my lap-band surgery.  HURRAY!  So, come April 2012, I had the lap-band surgery.  I thought this was going to be the "band-aid", that this would fix everything.  Boy, was I wrong.

When I left the day program at hospital D, they had recommended follow-up care with a center that specialized in weight issues.  I was given a new therapist and a new doctor.  And they were super nice.  I mean unbelievably nice.  They supported me through the surgery, adjusted meds as needed, and the therapist even started to see me twice a week to avoid me having to go back into a day program.  But I could NOT get over this hump.  I could not shake whatever demon was on my back.  I was spending so much time talking about my past and how it had impacted me that I was not living in the present.  I started to spiral back down, and my "team" suggested another day program.  Another one.  Are you kidding me?  Beyond frustrated.  Beyond disappointed in myself.  But I agreed, again.  This program, in the city so it was about an hour commute each way, was intense.  More intense than any program that I had been in so far.  Very much lay all your issues out on the table, let them sit there for awhile, and then try to fix it.  I was in trauma groups, weight issue groups, depression groups, self-injury groups.  It was a lot, but I was pushing myself to do it because I wanted to be better.  I am sure that you can see where this is going already.  I was pushed, and pushed, and pushed, and I shut down.  I kept going to groups, but would cry and could not speak.  The depression got bad, and I tried to tell my therapist, but the moment she brought up hospitalization, I clammed up.  No surprise, they hospitalized me again.  But this time, things started to FINALLY turn around.  This hospital ( we are now on hospital E) was like a 5 star hotel.  Private room, private bath, beautiful group rooms, super staff, workout center.  5 stars.  And, it worked.  I was there for 4 weeks, 4 long hard weeks, but it worked.  I felt calm.  I felt stable.  I felt like I could get back on track.

I was released in August 2012 and assigned another therapist and doctor.  Insert Dr. C and Dr. H.  Dr. C does the talking, Dr. H does the meds.  It took awhile for Dr. C and I to bond, but once we did, things started to get much better.  I was able to get a part-time job at a clothing store, I was able to be there for my kid's first day of school, I was able to function.  Now, Dr. C does NOT go easy on me, she pushes me hard, but I think it's the relationship that was built before the pushing that allows us to get along so well.  And Dr. H was great at working with me on meds, trying new things, supporting me 100%.  I made it until January 2013 before I had another break-down.  I almost drove my car into incoming traffic.  I was just at a point that I didn't care again.  And I got scared.  I called J, he came home from work, we talked, and I agreed to check back into hospital E.  I also agreed, after two weeks, to try a few more rounds of ECT.  I made it 6 sessions of ECT before I gave up.  ECT is hard, man.  It takes a lot out of you, and I was having some major memory problems.  And Dr. C didn't seem to mind that I had stopped, so I decided that I was just going to see her for awhile.  No day programs, no more drama, just me and her.  And she is about as drama-free as you can get. 

Dr. C looked hard at my past year and a half, where I was at currently, and started to notice my patterns.  About every six weeks, I bottom out.  And I had been pretty consistent for 18 months.  So, our task became to break the pattern.  To do everything in our power to meet that 6 week dip and not end up in the hospital.  I was scared, but I was committed to trying.  When things were up, we met once a week.  I e-mailed or blogged to her in between, and when I needed an extra push, she would respond back.  I started to express my feelings through creative writing, and she eagerly encouraged me to continue.  When things got bad, which they did in March, and April, and just last week, we upped the sessions to twice a week, sometimes having J come in as added support.  There were times that all I wanted to do was lay in bed and do nothing, and she told me to do that.  She said that I needed to do whatever my body needed to heal.  So I would lay in bed for three days and feel horrible, but I would make it through.  I would come to sessions and not talk, and she, with her never-ending patience, would tell me stories and tales that taught me lessons about how to handle depression.  And the few times that I needed a kick in the arse to remind me why I am on this planet, she gave me that, too.

It has been 5 months since I have been in a hospital.  That's the longest stretch that I have gone since this whole thing started back in August 2011.  I am learning that my depression is more than likely biological, not situational, but it was merely the situations that occurred that triggered and exaggerated the symptoms.  It's a fight, every day is a fight, but I have put on my boxing gloves and stepped into the ring.  This blog, my tell-all blog about depression and how much it sucks, is therapy for me.  It's giving me a voice and courage that I had lost in the past two years.  I have a job again, as an academic advisor, and I am headed down the right path.  Things will be bumpy, and I will talk about them here.  There are so many more specific stories that I want to share about my two years, and I will share them here.  So, stay tuned, the best is yet to come!