anxiety · bipolar · depression · Life · Meds · mental health · mental illness

For just a Millisecond…

 

There are twenty-four hours in a day. Fact. Within each hour I struggle to hold it together until stability lays itself at my feet once again. Within each hour there are seconds and milliseconds that clash with thoughts and emotions that swirl within my mind as I try and piece it all together into something I can call survival.

I try not to let this overwhelm me. I breathe, I distract, I medicate and detach myself from others so I won’t say or do something I will regret later. My tongue is sharp and my anger, angst, irritability shows when in the company of my family.

I apologize.

I may not be able to say that word enough or at the right time. But it is felt within my heart. For each short tempered moment and each barbed quip.

It is for these reasons I hate medication changes. I get ten years of something working well and then it fails me and I have to start from some lost place and hope to get back to somewhere where my only worry is what to do and not what my mind is doing.

My mother came by yesterday. It was a mixture of nerves and happiness. These feelings weren’t her fault. She did nothing wrong. It was all me. I knew I had to care for someone besides myself and I was overwhelmed. That is the answer to many questions in my life. Overwhelmed. Just holding it together is overwhelming. And that’s with medication that is faltering.

It has taken me so many years to get to a place of stability and to feel it teetering scares me.

I just wanted to lay calmly in bed today. I had taken my meds and played a few games on my phone to ‘distract.’ Napped a little and became agitated while listening to some CDs.

I just want peace and quite right now. I want to be alone. I need an adjustment on my present dosage of new medication. But my appointment is two weeks away.

I’ll be ok. I have to be. There is no alternative.

I can’t deal with other people’s lives and faults at this moment. It’s taking all I have to knit myself back together.

I want to do so much. I have so much to offer, I know this and have always known this somewhere inside. But I lack self-esteem and self-worth.

So I sit in front of my light-box and type this to relieve some of the thoughts rambling through my head. Today will be slow and so will tomorrow. I’ll go to therapy and then retreat back to my home to lick my wounds from stepping out the door.

It’s so hard to socialize and take the risks of not feeling safe.

I feel like I walk through a hurricane each day without protection. Each moment is a struggle and I fight against the wind and rain, but I continue to walk forward because I have no choice. There is some shelter in medication and therapy and I gratefully take them in as they ease the gale forces momentarily.

I step out into the storm again and take each millisecond and knit it into the next and hope to create something I can recognize as survival. Until I finally reach home and some state of stability.

How can you tell someone who lives each day like this too ‘shake it off?’

I will never understand that mindset. And they will never understand mine. I accept this and continue without their approval. Because I don’t need it.

 

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anxiety · bipolar · depression · Meds · mental illness · Self Image · social anxiety · symptoms · Thoughts

I HATE THIS PART!!!

New MED. New worries. Walking the fine line between feeling good or wondering if it’s a climb into a hypomanic state.

I went for a walk. Brought lots of junk food to put away for those times when nothing satisfies like a sugar rush.

Find myself wondering if I’m cycling up. I upped my dosage two days earlier and now I’m worried. Will I sleep tonight? What will tomorrow be like when I do my grocery shopping? Will I spend like a maniac?

This is the risk I take with every med adjustment. I hate med adjustments. I usually do them in the hospital. But I’m trying to avoid inpatient crap.

I have to be honest with myself and slow it down tonight. I like this feeling. I’m not harming anyone at the moment. The walk felt good.

But now I’m feeling guilty for feeling GOOD. Like it’s a bad thing and can only lead to grandiose thoughts and actions.

I hate not being able to trust my feelings and emotions. A lifetime of this shit is tiring.

No wonder I keep to myself and stay indoors.

Is it so wrong to smile sometimes?

anxiety · bipolar · depression · Meds · mental health · mental illness · social anxiety · symptoms · Thoughts

Is it the weather or not?

Rain and snow and high winds for the past few days. Not sure if nature isn’t cycling as well. Had to start the Trileptal a few days earlier. I felt awful. My head was just feeling like it was working on triple AAA batteries when it was designed for AA.

Feel much better this morning. I tend to respond to meds pretty fast. I can tell if it’s gonna work or not in a day or so. This seems like a fit for me. May need an increase in dosage, but time will tell.

I have the opportunity to get a therapy dog. I don’t feel this is the right time to be making this type of decision. Seeing other people leave their dogs droppings in my front lawn just irks me. I’ve always had a dog and I never did that, it’s disrespectful.

The opportunity for a therapy dog is sweet. But I don’t think I’m ready to give up my freedom. Plus there are my physical limitations. Chronic pain and swelling knees. The responsibility would fall on “ME” alone. I can remember thinking my dogs always deserved a better owner. One who could care for it up to the standards they deserved.

The monetary responsibility is the main one. I simply can’t afford it now. Maybe one day. Too many bills. Shame.

I don’t think I could walk a dog through the snow anymore. The rain and winds cause pressure on my sinuses. As I said, my dog would deserve better. God forbid if they got sick. Like my last dog did. I still mourn her loss.

One day I will have one just not now.

anxiety · depression · Long term Therapy · Meds · mental health · mental illness

Chocolate and new meds.

I haven’t had a med change in almost ten years. I realize that these meds for stability only last about ten years. I wish I was counting and I could have seen this coming. I’m tired. My anxiety is crazy. I want sweets. I want death. I know this will pass but for the moment its hell.

No one to talk to who won’t freak out. If I had chocolate this would all be easier.

I have to add another dose next week. Yesterday was easier. I just need things to be what they were before the confusion. I don’t want to leave the house. Back into the darkness.

anxiety · bipolar · depression · Life · Meds

Anxiety

Surprising I got more support for my short story on FB than here. I thought those of us who get it, would understand the story more. Whatever. Nobody reads this shit anyways.

The anxiety between the get together and my mother’s cataract surgery is starting to get to me. I’m literally having to take it day by day. Can’t think beyond today or I’ll get overwhelmed.

I just want to disappear into my house and never come out. Except for food and therapy. There’s a drop in and I want to go. Probably will. But I doubt the Marvin in me will enjoy it.

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LIFE DON’T TALK TO ME ABOUT LIFE

 

I should be very happy about my story being published. But I kinda feel like it’s not legit. Like they just needed a story to finish off their publication and threw mine in, mistakes and all.

Two other publications declined it because it wasn’t what they were looking for, “I GUESS NOT!”

No one wants reality anymore. No one wants to read about the mentally ill unless it’s “HAPPY”. There’s nothing fucking happy about existing with this shit.

But we make due. We have happy moments and those are the ones we have to hold onto.

Just shovel us back into the sanitariums and forget us again. You practically are doing that again.

What’s my audience? People. People who want to understand the truth. The reality of mental illness.

Yeah. I guess that makes two people. Me and my friend.

IF YOU ARE INTERESTED IN MY STORY HERE’S A LINK TO THE ORIGINAL POST.

STORY PUBLISHED.

anxiety · bipolar · Cancer · depression · Life · mental health · mental illness · Sjogren's Syndrome

STUCK! NOT!

Today I was told that I was “stuck” in my therapy. That my anxiety was ruling my life. I have reasons for that anxiety. Every time I take a risk, I have gone one step forwards and then I am knocked backwards two steps back. So, why bother with even trying. I’m getting too old for this and the damage from these encounters only makes it harder for me to function day to day. So I protect myself by avoiding situations where the same thing could happen again.

They want me to go to an intensive program for a few weeks and then come back.

I was super anxious about my mother’s upcoming cataract surgery. It’s hard enough just holding it together on a day to day basis. Distracting negative thoughts and fighting depression and the messages of self-hatred. It’s exhausting. For four weeks I’m gonna be more of a caregiver than I am normally. This builds added anxiety for me. I talked to my therapist and I was able to work past that hurdle.

Now they add this shit on my plate. MORE anxiety. You get rid of one and decide I could be doing so much better if I were more social. That you want to send me away and put me in some type of program. I am now making a mountain out of a molehill. Last time I was put into some type of day program. I was frightened because the majority of the participants just straight out scared me. Not because of their illnesses, but because they were men and I had been molested as a child and hadn’t dealt with that aspect yet.

Whenever I get into group therapy settings, I ended up facilitating the group instead of the facilitator. And when I try to turn that around and don’t talk until it’s my turn and ask for help, no one is able to help me. So group doesn’t work for me. My Pdoc said in that situation I should be happy just to be able to have helped someone. Fuck that. When do “I” get the help “I” need in that situation? Yeah, I’m happy I could help you, but where does that leave me? How does that help me towards stability?

They spring this on me two months before my mother’s surgery. It’s not the surgery I’m concerned about, it’s her reaction to the medication she has to take BEFORE and AFTER the surgery.

She’s on Letrozole for her cancer. She’s cancer free and has two more years of this stuff. The side-effects for her are exhausting. Foods and odors and medications cause her to have reactions that shoot through her body, from head to toe and last a long time. She has to drink lots of water and milk to calm her stomach and wash it out of her system. And then sit down and calm her nerves and her heartbeat. I understand this but her doctors seem to just ignore her remarks. I know and she knows that she has no choice but to finish off the last two years. The alternative is that cancer could come back, so there is really nothing anyone can do but put up with this.

This is where the anxiety comes from. I feel for her, it’s called empathy. And she’s my mother.

As I said, I got over that anxiety. But there are reasons I’m not a social butterfly.

I feel like I’m being judged by other people when I go out. OK, paranoia. I dismissed this and just started to feel comfortable and safe at one place. When this person decides to validate this fear by looking me up and down with an expression on her face like she smelled something bad. The stink face.

I didn’t smell. I was neat and clean. But she looked at me like I was beneath her. Judging me. Situations like that keep me from taking the risk of ‘being social.’ I could have said something, but out of respect of the people and the building, I kept my mouth shut.

I was walking down the street and some guy who decided I was in his path and didn’t want to move over his way mumbled that I was a fat fuck under his breath. I yelled “Fuck You” and continued on my path. Judgement. More justification of my mindstate.

I take the leap into a relationship and it turns out to be verbally abusive and almost physically. So I’m not heading down that track anytime soon.

Then there’s the chronic pain. If you hug me, it hurts. Sometimes even the slightest touch hurts. My knees swell when I walk and sometimes my leg drags if I walk too long. I fight through it and keep walking. It goes away, but the next day I suffer. My body is exhausted and I struggle to move around. I’m one day up and one day down. This is constant. Right now I am in pain. The weather has a lot to do with how I feel. Trying a new vitamin, hope it helps. This is my manifistation of Sjögren’s Syndrome, the joint pain etc.

This is a factor in my ability to be social. But I have no cane. I don’t talk about it to anyone but one friend who is in the same boat. No one wants to hear that all the time.

I can’t dance anymore. I can’t run. I can walk, so I am grateful. So my rant is over. I was very upset at the start. I might go to the program, just not now. November when everything is over and I have fewer worries.

 

 

 

bipolar · depression · Meds

Automatic

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I attended a writer’s conference for the first time this past weekend. I left on the second and got home on the fourth of June. I was exhausted and my mind was reeling with ideas and options and to be honest, I was totally ‘overwhelmed.’

The conference was a great experience and opportunity for me to connect with other writers and to learn more about the craft. It seemed to focus on novels, something I don’t think I’ll ever be able to do. But I want to get some short stories published and that was the last presentation of the conference. I was too exhausted to stay, I had to leave because I was falling asleep, although the presenter was excellent.

Everyone was using Scrivener, I think that’s how you spell it. But it’s just too complex for me. I’ll stick to Word.

The most important thing I learned was just to get the story out, literally, vomit it onto the page and worry about mistakes later. I started writing when I was there, but I was exhausted. I don’t even know how it reads or if I’ll do something with it.

This week has been hellish. Doctor’s appointments. Canceled transportation, pain, and depression. I woke up this morning and cried myself back to sleep. The thoughts of giving up just clanged in my head over and over again. I quit. Not so much dying, but just saying, ‘you win. I quit.’ Now leave me alone here in my bed and let me do nothing.

I realized I am running on automatic. Repetitive motions and routines devised to keep me together in this world. I hate it.

I would love to go a day without pills. Without needing to brush my teeth and floss and just lay there in bed. Being and doing nothing. I don’t want to eat, I don’t want to talk or be acknowledged as existing. I don’t want to ‘be.’ I quit.

Living a life of routine isn’t really living. It’s existing. And that’s all that I do and am, existing.

Yup, I’m depressed. I felt it coming on before the conference and fought as hard as I could and made it through. I saw Janis Ian (At Seventeen) fame. She’s tiny.

At Seventeen here’s the song. It’s my anthem.

She told the story of when she sang, “Societies Child”, for the first time she got booed off the stage and was hit with a can and various things. She cried and ran off the stage. Her manager said, what are you doing? Those people paid good money, get back out there. And she did.

The world is a dangerous place. I’ll move through this thought process, therapy today.

Who knows what my mind will give up tomorrow. If I will give up tomorrow. I doubt it. But whenever I hear a train, I want to walk in front of it. And that’s dangerous. There’s this battle that goes on inside. And I have to walk through a train platform to get to my mother’s house.

I scare myself.