I haven’t been writing because I’ve been depressed. Not suicidal, not even close, but deeply depressed. I have no energy. Not desire to do anything that might require energy. I’m having to psyche myself up just to hold a book and read. For the first time in my life I’m tempted by books on tape (I hate being read to) because they require less work. Holding a book and turning pages requires too much work. So yes. I’m depressed. Why? Because I’m depressed. How long have I been depressed? I’m not sure I ever stopped being depressed over the past while. I went to the hospital last year, as some readers might remember, because my meds weren’t working anymore and I was suicidal. They changed my anti-depressant and I’ve been on that for, I dunno, like 6 months or so. I could look it up but that requires work, and it doesn’t really matter. Either way I was on the new med long enough that if it was going to work, it would have. I didn’t. Plus Zoloft doesn’t up norepinephrine like the cymbalta did, so I lost what energy boost I had. These days I’m either asleep or tired/lethargic enough that I could be asleep easy, just give me a chance to get comfortable. I’m sleeping 12-20 hours a day. Only then am I almost functional. So clearly not only was a new anti-depressant needed, but I needed my norepinephrine boost back. So today was the day I saw my psychiatrist and we agreed it was time to try a new medication. Now I’m on Pristiq which is a name I struggle to take seriously. However, apparently it’s a LOT like Cymbalta, which was my miracle drug for years, only different enough that it might work where Cymbalta stopped. So we’ll see. I’mma going to just keep chugging through and hope that something eventually helps. Alright I’m going to go back to bed or something. I hope bed. Oh I hope bed. It was a long day. Hopefully by the time I’m feeling a little better I’ll have job news to share. There is no current school news. I extended my break by six weeks so I can muck through this. It means pulling a double later, but it won’t be near as bad as hell term last term. Alright bed. I’m not proofing this post. I’m… Well you’re getting what you’re getting and you done got it.
BPD Is A Bitch Archive
Going to therapy lately has felt weird. Mostly because there isn’t anything really going on in my life, so I feel like there is nothing to talk about. There are no big issues, just the same old crap.
Last week I was proactive about that though. I thought back to the days when my therapist taught dbt, and I thought how my meds doctor wants me in dbt but realizes I can’t afford yet another weekly trip to that end of town.
So I compromised. I asked my therapist if she still has all the lesson plans from when she taught dbt, and if she’d be willing to have mini dbt with just me during our sessions. She does and she is.
So now once a week, I will have dbt with my therapist. I will relearn the old skills and I’ll strive to be better.
And of course the dbt lessons will allow room for the day-to-day crap that might come up and need worked out in therapy.
I’m excited. I think it was very wise minded of me to come up with this idea.
I’m in this weird position where things in life are going well, but I’m still not happy.
We usually have money troubles, but we were able to get a 2K advance on my student loans and that allowed us to catch up and get everything up to date. We then have more money, twice as much I think, coming in October and that will allow us to pay ahead even. So it’s not like we’re rolling in cash, but things could be and have been a lot worse.
We’ve been in this house a year now and we still love it. We still want to grow old here. It’s all that we could ask for.
My sister is healthier. She still has a lot of healing to do, but she’s getting there slowly but surely. We knew this would be a long process but she’s in no immediate danger.
The boys are back in school. Sambam starts preschool Monday. She is so ready. We are so ready.
Pat and I are eh. We spend too much time together. I think it’s our personal mental health causing spousal drama.
The word I’m using is apathetic. I feel apathetic towards life. I also threw into the mix: agitated. I don’t know why. There is no certain thing or person agitating me. I’m just agitated.
This is going to come out very disjoined and just won’t flow. I’m sorry, but that’s just how I am at this time with this topic.
I spent most of the last couple of weeks in July fantasizing about taking a few bottles worth of pills. It wasn’t just a, “I wish I was dead,” but a full on plan.
When I tried to hospitalize myself in March, the hospital I went to was so sure it was just the stress of my sister’s illness. They refused to take my own illness seriously. When she got her transplant, and that stress was over, but I didn’t magically get better, I in fact got worse. For awhile I thought it was just me needing more friendship in my life. I made a new friend. I chatted with the new friend. I was ecstatic for like two days, and then the new friend excitement wore off and I still felt like I wanted to die. Turns out I didn’t just need friends.
But being turned away last March left me with zero faith in the system. I was “too smart to need hospitalization”. Yeah, yeah. I’m also smart enough to know exactly how to successfully kill myself.
So I called my meds doctor and I filled her in on how I was feeling, the extent to which I was suicidal, and why it was I was hesitant to go to the hospital. I knew I needed help, but I also knew if I got turned away again I would go through with an attempt. At that point all hope I had would be gone.
She of course pointed out the differences between the present and March. For starters, in March as horrible as I felt, I was wishing I was dead, not planning it. I also decided it would be wise to pick another hospital. This time I went to OSU instead of Mount Carmel East. Why yes, I am breaking my policy and I’m naming names.
OSU actually apologized for MC’s mistake even though they had nothing to do with it. They full on told me that MC made a bad decision. In doing so they didn’t just validate me being there in the present, but they validated my needs back in March.
I spent about 8 hours in the ER before they made the final decision and got my room ready. There was never really much doubt in them keeping me, outside of my paranoia at the system.
While still in the ER, the consulting Psychiatrist and I discussed what exactly the stay could do for me, besides keeping me safe. I finally admitted to myself and the world that the Cymbalta, my miracle drug, just wasn’t working any more. We discussed alternative meds and I picked Zoloft because it would help with depression and my anxiety. The very next morning I start Zoloft and they started weaning me off Cymbalta. To say I was fast tracked is an understatement. In 4 days I was taken off 120MG of Cymbalta and put on 150MG of Zoloft. My body handled it well.
It was Friday July 31, 2015 that I was admitted, and I was released the following Tuesday.
And here is where I end this tale for now. I of course did some writing while I was in there, and I’ll share that with you in bits and pieces over the next week or so.
I am going out of my mind with this feeling that I’m just drifting off into space, oblivion, or maybe just coasting along. I don’t know. I’m just kind of existing. I don’t think I’m overly sad, though I am depressed. That’s a fun one. I mean, unless you’ve ever suffered clinic depression, it makes no sense. But it’s a true fact: You can be sad, but not be depressed, and you can be depressed and not be sad. Depression isn’t a gauge of how sad you are, even if you are in fact both depressed and sad.
Depression is really this state of being where you’re, I don’t know, feeling less than. Less than, anything and/or everything. I currently feel less than a person.
It doesn’t help that my day-to-day doesn’t change from one day to the next. All my days run together and aside from the occasional appointment, I don’t even have need to know what day of the week it is. And it’s driving me out of my mind, really. I am a human being who hates pressure, but still thrives under structure. There is no structure to anything right now. None.
My biggest thing I need to get back to is school and I know that. I needed winter off, I was drowning in life. The stress was beyond anything I’ve ever experienced just 4 short months ago.
I needed to take the summer off, because if my sister hadn’t received her new liver a few weeks back, we would have buried her by now. I was hoping for the best, but ready for the worst. I also would have started the term with my sister on her death-bed no matter what. It ended well, but it ended well at the last possible minute.
So I go back this fall and I’m so ready for fall to be now. I’m actually excited about it. I get to learn again! I’m going to start where I left off and delve into economics, only this time I’m going to take it in a classroom. It involves math and therefore follows the math rule: Never try to teach yourself math. i don’t care how helpful the text-book might be. Math is just one of those classes that needs the benefit of an instructor walking you through step by step. Economics is no exception.
As an added bonus, taking it in a classroom will mean I’m out of the house once a week! Go team! I’m going to burn this place to the ground if I don’t start getting out more! Only not really,because I’m a pyrophobe and I have like 500 books that I don’t intend to lose.
So I’m anxiously awaiting the day I can register (July 6th). I’m anxiously awaiting the first day of term (August 17th).
In the meantime, I’m just drifting and it’s soul crushing.
Dear God someone pull me out of this hole!
For months now, my continued and prolonged state of depression has been written off as a nasty side of effect of having a sister that was maybe dying. You know, one of those times where depression was based on real life events and not on the fact I’m all sorts of fucked up in the head. And yes, that’s the technical term I’m going with because it’s how I feel. Want to fight me on it?
Well, my sister’s life was saved a week and a half ago. Oh, she’s in miserable shape as she’s recovering from a massive surgery and a long illness, but she’s no longer dying. There isn’t any reason to think she won’t live to see 80 or older.
It is at this point that all the pretty doctors, like those in the hospital when I tried to be admitted for being a danger to myself, seem to have thought I’d magically feel better.
OK, maybe they didn’t think it would be magically, maybe just a natural cause and effect, but as much as they talked about my sister’s illness being the cause, I damn well expected the effect of feeling world’s better!
If anything I’m feeling twice as worse because the magic didn’t happen. I didn’t magically feel better when my sister was saved. Oh, I mean I feel loads better about that, but the depression that eats away at you, crawls under your skill like a billion little bugs invading your every nook and cranny, setting up shop so they can take over your life and eat away at you from the inside out.
And I’m depressed. I’m depressed as fuck.
I’m taking all the right pills.
I’m doing all the right things.
My sister is saved.
And I can feel the bugs crawling under my skin, invading my life, eating away at all my little happy pieces. I can feel them.
I can feel them.