Daily Archives: October 26, 2014

27

Do I really have to pay this toll? This death at 27, save me, Rock Continue Reading →

The Slough of Despond

I haven’t written in a while – perhaps because I can’t even seem to access/wrap my head around whats happening or perhaps I’m scared of fully investigating/partially excepting it. I am in the depths of clinical depression, have been for weeks (at least) now, and nothing is helping. I can’t seem to get to even the edges of it to grasp hold and shake it violently into submission.

All I want to do is cry. All the time. But I don’t – hardly ever. It’s almost like I’m in shock and if I really let myself be vulnerable enough to just bawl, well who knows what would happen. Maybe it would be cathartic. Maybe it would send me spiraling deeper into the depths and lead to me staring blankly at the bare cracked paint peeling walls of a mental hospital – again. Which is significantly more complex of a situation at the moment seeing as I’m under consideration for a job at my local hospital and showing up in their psych ward – again – would most likely not bode too terribly well. Oh, the horrible irony.

I go to therapy 3x/week. Every week. 2 group sessions and 1 individual. I see my psychiatrist and take my meds – which seem to be an ever expanding cocktail of antidepressants which still won’t keep this at bay. Last time I felt this coming on I was put on Remeron (Mirtazapine) which seemed to take the edge off. 2 weeks ago I went in reporting worsening depression and inability to sleep soundly (despite the nightly cocktail which includes Melatonin, Latuda, Remeron, Buspar and Klonopin already) and Trazadone was added to the cocktail. Told to take 1-2 nightly PRN until this (whatever this is) subsides. NO CHANGE. None.

I don’t get it. I have health insurance and good care, never miss an appointment, take every prescription given to me as directed, have a fairly good support system, but I’m still constantly what can only be described as miserable. Even if I’m out doing something with a friend it’s noticeable that something is really off-kilter. I don’t look forward to anything. I even just got back from a few days at the beach with family as my birthday present and could barely even take anything in. Actually, while I was there I felt an insurmountable pressure to relax and unwind and enjoy – which of course just made the whole situation worse. I did cry one night there to my mom – that I didn’t understand, I just wanted to be happy, to enjoy, and I felt  like I was ungrateful for the whole experience. My mom advised that I might be putting too much pressure on the idealization of “happiness” but that’s not it… I’m not looking for unbridled joy, just to not feel soul crushingly miserable.

I can barely force myself to get out of the house or socialize – it doesn’t help that I have so much free time on my hands. I did actually try to schedule some things in to make getting out of bed worthwhile – but then I just ignore them. There is an actual indent in my couch. I can feel the springs and wooden beam as clearly and ever presently as the lump in my throat. I sit in the indent now, even as I type – because what’s the point of moving anywhere else? Its not like anything will be better. I have one of my favorite bands playing (Jane’s Addiction, if you’re curious) – music that in a previous lifetime would have me up and dancing around, prodding me with memories of concerts, and instead its just a reminder that I couldn’t get up and dance even if I tried or cared.

Mostly this is paralyzingly frightening. And I know those close to me are really starting to worry and get, like me, perplexed over what more can be done, if anything. I feel very alone in all of this though logically I know other people suffer and that most likely this will not last forever (literally the last hope that I cling to). But geezus this has been going on a long time with no glimmer of a breakthrough despite everyone’s best efforts.

I’m terrified of how little I care about anything.

And still I sit here with the lump in my throat – unable to cry.


The Slough of Despond

I haven’t written in a while – perhaps because I can’t even seem to access/wrap my head around whats happening or perhaps I’m scared of fully investigating/partially excepting it. I am in the depths of clinical depression, have been for weeks (at least) now, and nothing is helping. I can’t seem to get to even the edges of it to grasp hold and shake it violently into submission.

All I want to do is cry. All the time. But I don’t – hardly ever. It’s almost like I’m in shock and if I really let myself be vulnerable enough to just bawl, well who knows what would happen. Maybe it would be cathartic. Maybe it would send me spiraling deeper into the depths and lead to me staring blankly at the bare cracked paint peeling walls of a mental hospital – again. Which is significantly more complex of a situation at the moment seeing as I’m under consideration for a job at my local hospital and showing up in their psych ward – again – would most likely not bode too terribly well. Oh, the horrible irony.

I go to therapy 3x/week. Every week. 2 group sessions and 1 individual. I see my psychiatrist and take my meds – which seem to be an ever expanding cocktail of antidepressants which still won’t keep this at bay. Last time I felt this coming on I was put on Remeron (Mirtazapine) which seemed to take the edge off. 2 weeks ago I went in reporting worsening depression and inability to sleep soundly (despite the nightly cocktail which includes Melatonin, Latuda, Remeron, Buspar and Klonopin already) and Trazadone was added to the cocktail. Told to take 1-2 nightly PRN until this (whatever this is) subsides. NO CHANGE. None.

I don’t get it. I have health insurance and good care, never miss an appointment, take every prescription given to me as directed, have a fairly good support system, but I’m still constantly what can only be described as miserable. Even if I’m out doing something with a friend it’s noticeable that something is really off-kilter. I don’t look forward to anything. I even just got back from a few days at the beach with family as my birthday present and could barely even take anything in. Actually, while I was there I felt an insurmountable pressure to relax and unwind and enjoy – which of course just made the whole situation worse. I did cry one night there to my mom – that I didn’t understand, I just wanted to be happy, to enjoy, and I felt  like I was ungrateful for the whole experience. My mom advised that I might be putting too much pressure on the idealization of “happiness” but that’s not it… I’m not looking for unbridled joy, just to not feel soul crushingly miserable.

I can barely force myself to get out of the house or socialize – it doesn’t help that I have so much free time on my hands. I did actually try to schedule some things in to make getting out of bed worthwhile – but then I just ignore them. There is an actual indent in my couch. I can feel the springs and wooden beam as clearly and ever presently as the lump in my throat. I sit in the indent now, even as I type – because what’s the point of moving anywhere else? Its not like anything will be better. I have one of my favorite bands playing (Jane’s Addiction, if you’re curious) – music that in a previous lifetime would have me up and dancing around, prodding me with memories of concerts, and instead its just a reminder that I couldn’t get up and dance even if I tried or cared.

Mostly this is paralyzingly frightening. And I know those close to me are really starting to worry and get, like me, perplexed over what more can be done, if anything. I feel very alone in all of this though logically I know other people suffer and that most likely this will not last forever (literally the last hope that I cling to). But geezus this has been going on a long time with no glimmer of a breakthrough despite everyone’s best efforts.

I’m terrified of how little I care about anything.

And still I sit here with the lump in my throat – unable to cry.


The Slough of Despond

I haven’t written in a while – perhaps because I can’t even seem to access/wrap my head around whats happening or perhaps I’m scared of fully investigating/partially excepting it. I am in the depths of clinical depression, have been for weeks (at least) now, and nothing is helping. I can’t seem to get to even the edges of it to grasp hold and shake it violently into submission.

All I want to do is cry. All the time. But I don’t – hardly ever. It’s almost like I’m in shock and if I really let myself be vulnerable enough to just bawl, well who knows what would happen. Maybe it would be cathartic. Maybe it would send me spiraling deeper into the depths and lead to me staring blankly at the bare cracked paint peeling walls of a mental hospital – again. Which is significantly more complex of a situation at the moment seeing as I’m under consideration for a job at my local hospital and showing up in their psych ward – again – would most likely not bode too terribly well. Oh, the horrible irony.

I go to therapy 3x/week. Every week. 2 group sessions and 1 individual. I see my psychiatrist and take my meds – which seem to be an ever expanding cocktail of antidepressants which still won’t keep this at bay. Last time I felt this coming on I was put on Remeron (Mirtazapine) which seemed to take the edge off. 2 weeks ago I went in reporting worsening depression and inability to sleep soundly (despite the nightly cocktail which includes Melatonin, Latuda, Remeron, Buspar and Klonopin already) and Trazadone was added to the cocktail. Told to take 1-2 nightly PRN until this (whatever this is) subsides. NO CHANGE. None.

I don’t get it. I have health insurance and good care, never miss an appointment, take every prescription given to me as directed, have a fairly good support system, but I’m still constantly what can only be described as miserable. Even if I’m out doing something with a friend it’s noticeable that something is really off-kilter. I don’t look forward to anything. I even just got back from a few days at the beach with family as my birthday present and could barely even take anything in. Actually, while I was there I felt an insurmountable pressure to relax and unwind and enjoy – which of course just made the whole situation worse. I did cry one night there to my mom – that I didn’t understand, I just wanted to be happy, to enjoy, and I felt  like I was ungrateful for the whole experience. My mom advised that I might be putting too much pressure on the idealization of “happiness” but that’s not it… I’m not looking for unbridled joy, just to not feel soul crushingly miserable.

I can barely force myself to get out of the house or socialize – it doesn’t help that I have so much free time on my hands. I did actually try to schedule some things in to make getting out of bed worthwhile – but then I just ignore them. There is an actual indent in my couch. I can feel the springs and wooden beam as clearly and ever presently as the lump in my throat. I sit in the indent now, even as I type – because what’s the point of moving anywhere else? Its not like anything will be better. I have one of my favorite bands playing (Jane’s Addiction, if you’re curious) – music that in a previous lifetime would have me up and dancing around, prodding me with memories of concerts, and instead its just a reminder that I couldn’t get up and dance even if I tried or cared.

Mostly this is paralyzingly frightening. And I know those close to me are really starting to worry and get, like me, perplexed over what more can be done, if anything. I feel very alone in all of this though logically I know other people suffer and that most likely this will not last forever (literally the last hope that I cling to). But geezus this has been going on a long time with no glimmer of a breakthrough despite everyone’s best efforts.

I’m terrified of how little I care about anything.

And still I sit here with the lump in my throat – unable to cry.


Death of Identity

Identity suspended me – to nothingness – beyond belief. This is not me. I cannot Continue Reading →

Bipolar Me vs. DisneyWorld

Once a group of us were on a business trip to Anaheim. “If any of you want to take clients to Disneyland, I can get you tickets,” the boss said.

“I can’t even imagine myself wanting to do that,” I replied.

The others laughed, though I wasn’t trying to be funny. I get that a lot.

I have always had deeply mixed feelings about Walt Disney and his creations. How could I not? A place that bills itself as The Happiest Place on Earth vs. Bipolar 2 That Has Caused Depression Since Childhood. (To be fair, I used to like “Wonderful World of Color,” particularly the nature films, even when we had only a b&w TV. Gray Tinkerbelle is a metaphor for. . . well, something involving depression.)

So what explains this picture of a dear friend, me, and my husband being photo-bombed by a Lego dragon?

smithdragon

The first thing you have to know about Tom (left) and Leslie (the photographer) is that their inner child is, let’s say, very close to the surface. They are DisneyWorld aficionados. And they know all (well, almost all) about my mental disorders.

We desperately needed a vacation, and they offered to be our guides for an adult-friendly, non-teacup visit. Also, it was the Millennium celebration and early in December, which promised no sweltering heat, interesting decorations (as much or as little as I could stand) and other spiffy stuff, including few children, who would not yet be on Christmas break. (Ah, the high-pitched shrieks of laughter from children meeting their cartoon heroes. It cuts right through me like a knife.)

Here’s what I learned.

• The restaurants there are incredible. Eat your way around Epcot.

• I dreaded the Tower of Terror because I thought my stomach would drop out. This proved not to be the problem; my inner ear objected, though. Our friends got me on it by telling me to repeat the mantra, “Disney will not kill me. They want more of my money later.” It was one of those things that I’m glad I did and now Will Never Do Again.

• The Explorer’s Club is extremely cool.

• There are lots of nifty tiny things that aren’t rides and attraction that you can try to spot – bits of the sidewalk that light up randomly like a surprise Dance Dance Revolution, Mouse ear shapes in unexpected places, such as the wing nuts on shelves in the many gift shops, and so on. This is where knowledgeable guides come in particularly handy.

• At night, you can see the stars from the top of that mining train-roller coaster thing, something I didn’t expect, given all the ambient light an amusement park puts out.

• Also, we all won giant purple-and-red plush armadillos at one of the games. That’s one thing my inner child can appreciate.

• STAY AWAY from the teacups and It’s a Small World. They will turn you into a whimpering, burbling puddle of regret and sugar-shock. When your mother asks later, just say, “Oh, yes. They were nice. You would have loved them.”

If you go with the right people, do not try to make it into the Bataan Fun March, and rest and eat or retreat to the hotel when you need a break, it’s survivable and even – dare I say? – enjoyable. Sufficiently medicated with Prozac and Ativan, I could handle it.

I’d have to give this round to Disney, but really it was all Tom and Leslie.

P.S. Also, the Food and Wine Festival is a great experience. I spent three months in Orlando and a co-worker got us tickets. Cute guys with devastating Australian accents chatting about Australian wine. What could possibly be more satisfactory?

 

 


Making a Mockery of Mental Illness

I don’t get many comments on this blog. So when I do, I read them with much interest. This morning, however, I awoke to non helpful bitchy little comments from someone with a site and an agenda. This site is abhorrent to me as I believe it trivializes the struggle of people with mental illness by making it all seem like some big personality/social issue that can be cured by willpower alone. Meds are crutches, blah blah blah.
To be fair, I will post here the comments because I am currently in hormonal imbalance week and maybe I’m overreacting. I don’t think so because I walk in my shoes and this person does not. Belittling mental illness like some sort of choice we make insults my intelligence and that of every other person who has mental illness.
On the post about the anxiety of anxiety disorder: “Delusion or illusion?” Not sure it matters what this dude thinks as mental illness is neither to those of us who have it. We believe what our misfiring brain is telling us.
The insult was on “My Name Is…”
“Now you know, what are you going to do about it?”
Um…Exorcism?
I was very proud of that post. It was heartfelt. It was well written. It was honest.
To have it mocked (whether intentionally or not) is abhorrent.

I am pretty sure this guy has his own agenda and his site speaks volumes as to his views of mental illness. He’s promoting something called “Social Anxiety Fix.” Like repairing a broken toaster. Belittling, trivializing, and offensive to me. Also offensive to me is giving his site any traffic.
But I am quid pro quo and if I am going to disagree publicly, then I feel compelled to let those who might read this post judge for themselves. Hell, we are all so different, his page might prove to be helpful to some.
It’s little more than a taunt to me, acting on the assumption my disorders are somehow minor and linked to some sort of personality weakness I just need to “get over”. He seems to think those with social anxiety are just lonely and socially awkward. While I am the posterchild for the latter, I am rarely the former. I love being alone. Why would I need an audience to watch me write or read?
Making a mountain out of a molehill, am I?

Meh.
I needed a subject to rant on because today is just not one of my better days. I’m in pain, and mainly want to zone out doing something that makes me happy. Which today means a marathon of eps of CSI I missed.
I’ve done everything I am supposed to do to get well. I have issues but I am not some lump whining and doing nothing about it.

On this one, Mr. Anxiety Fix and I will have to agree to disagree.

If someone else who reads this finds that way helpful…I wish them well.

Now back to CSI. A plane was sabotaged and I need to know who did it and why. Sometimes, the best break you can give yourself is one where you think of anything but your own crap.
And I am aware my petty crap is no more or less important than anyone else’s. But this blog and venting here are MY THERAPY so…
don’t fuck with it.
And if you’re selling something…You are knocking on the wrong door. I can’t afford to pay attention.

But I haven’t ruled out that exorcism thing. It’d make for great entertainment on Halloween ;)


Mom, Embalmed

I’ve been less than functional today. Well, in my own mind. I did get up, take care of kid and cats, did dishes and cooked a good meal. But other than that, I have been in this zombie haze. My entire body aches. My knees are starting to hurt as they do every fall and winter. I’m exhausted even though I did fuck all. So on top of feeling shitty for not being super mom with the housework…I get to feel guilty about it as well.

It’s like this any time I spend more time out and about in the dish than at home. And last week the scales were about even on time out/time home. Throw in cramps and PMS…I’m drained. Embalmed.

Of course, having said all this, I will have to further guilt trip myself for being narcissistic and self absorbed and whiny. I can never seem to cut myself some slack.
I need to do that. Just not sure how.

I think…I will start with a shower. Then some Xanax. And once my kid goes to sleep and the uzi fire to my brain stops…perhaps I will return to a better mind frame. Or just get lost in the nothingness of sleep.

I find if I allow myself that luxury once or twice a week, I am able to somewhat recharge and spring back into action, so to speak.

On the plus side, six years ago, I was staying up all night, taking 300 mg of seroquel and 400 mg of trazadone and sleeping til 4 pm day in day out.
The mom gig at least has taught me that I don’t get to be a lump anymore. I may not feel like functioning, I may not be entirely functional, but I don’t have any choice but to get up and go through the motions. Which is what it feels like sometimes when the depression is tugging at your mind, raising your anxiety, and all you can think about is how you’d give a kidney just to have a manic episode and feel alive again.
It’s good that I have evolved and learned to tough it out rather than hide in come inducing pills and sleep. As long as I give myself vegetation time on occasion…It’s all good.

Besides. I’m never much use during pms week. Or the first two days of shark week. It’s hard to feel good when you’re in pain and exhausted for no reason and doing battle with a slew of emotions you don’t know are real or hormonal. The fact I haven’t been spotted in a clocktower with a high powered rifle is worthy of Ripley’s.

Though…If I really wanted to screw with people I could walk around with a realistic water gun, announce I have PMS, and see if they start running.

Meh. Maybe not. I’m too crampy and cranky.


Comcast Sucks! Sucks!! SUCKS!!!!!

If you live in the United States then you’ve probably heard stories of Comcast’s awesomely shitty service.  Allow me to add mine to the record.  I had Comcast internet, cable tv and home phone service at my last home.  In order to have Comcast home phone service, a Comcast-furnished modem was provided.  At the time that I moved out of my home, I went to the Comcast Service Center in Boulder and returned all of the equipment, i.e. the modem, cable tv tuner and remote control.  I got a receipt showing that I returned all of those items.

A few weeks later, I started receiving emails from a Comcast representative stating that I hadn’t returned the modem, and that I had three days to do so.  I responded to the email stating that yes, I had returned all of the equipment, and I attached a copy of the receipt that I got from the Comcast Service Center, showing that the equipment had been returned.

Need I say that it was like talking to a wall?  I continued to get threatening emails, demanding that I return the modem.  I got a final  bill from Comcast showing that they owed me roughly $90, but that I was being charged $30 for the modem.  I called Comcast to protest being billed for the modem.  I was told that they simply had not recorded the return of the modem at the time that the bill was generated, but that I would receive a full refund check the following month.

Well here it is the following month, and I’ve received another bill, showing that I am being charged for the unreturned modem.  No check, even though Comcast owes me $90+ dollars.  This is SO FRUSTRATING!!!  What do I have to do or who do I have to screw to get this resolved???  THIS IS RIDICULOUS!!!

I am hoping that this post somehow goes viral.  Perhaps Comcast can be shamed into doing the right thing.  I don’t know what else to do!  Would you please do me a favor, and share this on all social media sites that you are on?  I would REALLY appreciate it.  Thanks!!!


Filed under: Bipolar Tagged: #ComcastSucks, Comcast Sucks, Comcast Terrible Service, Reader