Daily Archives: February 24, 2016

Numb

My face has gone numb. I no longer care about going to work, or being with my child or wife, or even eating a meal. Everything I do makes me feel terrible, like I am unfit for living. Every choice I make is wrong. The place where I am at in life is not okay. […]

On The Ward Again. . .

So I finally gave up and went back into the hospital.  I was feeling helpless, hopeless, and super angry at myself and everyone else.  So that’s where I’ve been since Friday. 

It actually went pretty well.  I told them my tale of woe about the insurance company and my old medicine, so they simply put me back on it and said they would file the paperwork with my insurance company to see  if they would cover the Abilify now that we could prove how  sick I got without it.   And Bob said even if the insurance company refused, we would just pay it out of pocket rather than me stay that sick.  So once they put me on it, I really improved quickly and returned to rational thinking faintly soon.  That was a good feeling.

So now I’m out and hopefully fully restored to rationality.  Hopefully I can have another long run of stability now that I’m back on Ability.

 


A Million Endings in My Mind (TW)

TRIGGER WARNING –thoughts of suicide

 

not how its going to end

There was a time in my life when I thought that everyone on the planet thought about suicide like I did.  That every depressed person obsessed over it, that it was at the forefront of everyone’s mind, even when the feelings of depression had diminished.  That is was the first thing every person thought of when they woke up, or when they drove over a bridge, or when life seemed even slightly too cruel.

My thoughts turn toward giving up at the slightest provocation.  They have been that way for a really long time.  Decades.  I’m not sure how it got that way.  I have (obviously) not given up, because I’m sitting here typing this, and haven’t given up (ever) in the sense that I have tried to end my life.  But, man, do I ever think about it.

All the time.  In good times and in bad.  The thought is always right there, hovering near the surface.  When I say I think about it in good times, the thoughts are always much more passive, such as wanting to sleep and not wake up or wishing that I didn’t exist.  Times other than the good times, the thoughts are quite a bit more graphic.

I think its possible that the thoughts themselves have become obsessive, in a way.  I used them as tools to get through some really impossible situations in life.  When life is harsh and ugly and you are being beaten over the head (sometimes quite literally) with your own illness, the thoughts that you wish you would never wake up are comforting.  The thoughts that you could just oh, say, slide your hand a bit to the right on the steering wheel as you take this curve make you feel a little bit more in control of things.

I’m not sure if anyone is going to understand that, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to publish this post, because I fear that I’m going to have a whole lot of people tell me how beautiful life is and how I am cherished in it and how I have so much to live for.  Yes, I know these things.  The thoughts still come.  This has become about the thoughts and how the thoughts have taken over my life.

I don’t talk to anyone (at all) about this.  I fear rejection, stigma, and I fear having to look another human in the face and say, lying all the way, that, oh yes, I know things are never that bad that I should have these thoughts.  Because having these intrusive, repetitive, obsessive thoughts is not something I choose.  I don’t *like* these thoughts, but I do have to deal with them.  I do have to live my life, with them whispering about in my head.

I do a lot of living inside my head, I do a lot of not going places, and not talking to people.  Not going places I love to go, like to basketball games, and not talking to people that I love more than any on Earth, like my sister or my dad.  I can’t tell them these things, about these obsessive thoughts.  I can’t picture the words coming from my mouth, even if I think there is a good chance that they won’t immediately commit me to a locked ward somewhere.

If this post reaches even one person who can relate, who can understand what I’m saying, and they can know they are not alone with these commanding and hostile, yet sometimes just whispering thoughts, then that is all I really wanted.  So much of having a mental illness is feeling alone and misunderstood.  I get tired of feeling that way, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.  I’m tired with it, with the isolation and the feeling that no one is really grasping what is happening in my head.

But my story, it’s not ending this way.  I have a  million different endings churning in my head, vying for space and attention, and if I have anything to do with it, the ending I will forge in time’s book is that of a person who never fully gave up, even though the thoughts tried to convince her every day.  I may have to deal with the thoughts, but I can vow that I will do my best to not give in, and to continue to try and learn to silence, to ignore, to resist them along the way, as best I can.

 


Filed under: Collection of Thoughts Tagged: anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression, giving up, intrusive thoughts, obsessive thoughts, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, suicide

A Million Endings in My Mind (TW)

TRIGGER WARNING –thoughts of suicide

 

not how its going to end

There was a time in my life when I thought that everyone on the planet thought about suicide like I did.  That every depressed person obsessed over it, that it was at the forefront of everyone’s mind, even when the feelings of depression had diminished.  That is was the first thing every person thought of when they woke up, or when they drove over a bridge, or when life seemed even slightly too cruel.

My thoughts turn toward giving up at the slightest provocation.  They have been that way for a really long time.  Decades.  I’m not sure how it got that way.  I have (obviously) not given up, because I’m sitting here typing this, and haven’t given up (ever) in the sense that I have tried to end my life.  But, man, do I ever think about it.

All the time.  In good times and in bad.  The thought is always right there, hovering near the surface.  When I say I think about it in good times, the thoughts are always much more passive, such as wanting to sleep and not wake up or wishing that I didn’t exist.  Times other than the good times, the thoughts are quite a bit more graphic.

I think its possible that the thoughts themselves have become obsessive, in a way.  I used them as tools to get through some really impossible situations in life.  When life is harsh and ugly and you are being beaten over the head (sometimes quite literally) with your own illness, the thoughts that you wish you would never wake up are comforting.  The thoughts that you could just oh, say, slide your hand a bit to the right on the steering wheel as you take this curve make you feel a little bit more in control of things.

I’m not sure if anyone is going to understand that, and I’m not sure I’m going to be able to publish this post, because I fear that I’m going to have a whole lot of people tell me how beautiful life is and how I am cherished in it and how I have so much to live for.  Yes, I know these things.  The thoughts still come.  This has become about the thoughts and how the thoughts have taken over my life.

I don’t talk to anyone (at all) about this.  I fear rejection, stigma, and I fear having to look another human in the face and say, lying all the way, that, oh yes, I know things are never that bad that I should have these thoughts.  Because having these intrusive, repetitive, obsessive thoughts is not something I choose.  I don’t *like* these thoughts, but I do have to deal with them.  I do have to live my life, with them whispering about in my head.

I do a lot of living inside my head, I do a lot of not going places, and not talking to people.  Not going places I love to go, like to basketball games, and not talking to people that I love more than any on Earth, like my sister or my dad.  I can’t tell them these things, about these obsessive thoughts.  I can’t picture the words coming from my mouth, even if I think there is a good chance that they won’t immediately commit me to a locked ward somewhere.

If this post reaches even one person who can relate, who can understand what I’m saying, and they can know they are not alone with these commanding and hostile, yet sometimes just whispering thoughts, then that is all I really wanted.  So much of having a mental illness is feeling alone and misunderstood.  I get tired of feeling that way, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.  I’m tired with it, with the isolation and the feeling that no one is really grasping what is happening in my head.

But my story, it’s not ending this way.  I have a  million different endings churning in my head, vying for space and attention, and if I have anything to do with it, the ending I will forge in time’s book is that of a person who never fully gave up, even though the thoughts tried to convince her every day.  I may have to deal with the thoughts, but I can vow that I will do my best to not give in, and to continue to try and learn to silence, to ignore, to resist them along the way, as best I can.

 


Filed under: Collection of Thoughts Tagged: anxiety, bipolar disorder, depression, giving up, intrusive thoughts, obsessive thoughts, suicidal ideation, suicidal thoughts, suicide

Whatever Happened To . . .

Bradley wrote a post recently about all the bloggers he used to enjoy who just…disappeared and it got me to thinking.  Whatever happened to so-and-so?  I went to my list of blogs I follow and there’s a good number of them whose blogs I can’t even view!  WordPress just says “No recent posts…” and doesn’t show the blog at all.  It leaves me wondering (and I’m sorry Bradley if this is too much like your post) but I wonder, what the hell happened to these wonderful people?  Funny, insightful people whose blogs I loved.  One was about a woman who was an escort, it was really interesting.  Her in particular, I wonder, was she killed?  Others, since they were Bipolar bloggers, I wonder, did they kill themselves?  It’s unsettling, to say the least.  I wish I’d gotten their contact information so that I could follow up with them.  I makes me want to organize this blogosphere into a “real” community where everybody knows everybody and has their contact information and can check up on each other when they don’t hear from them for awhile.  I know for me, there was a stretch last year, a few months, where I didn’t post at all.  I just didn’t feel like I had anything to say (imagine that!).  Is this what’s going on?  Why, people?  Why did you leave without a backward glance?  Don’t you know that there are people around here who care?  Who find you funny, fun, engaging, heartfelt, sweet and articulate?  So I’m putting it out there.  To all my bloggy friends:  PLEASE DON’T LEAVE!!  Or, if you must, please give us a warning!  Let us know!  Because people CARE!!!  Your absence does not go unnoticed!!!  Now I’m sending this out into the universe, and I hope this sentiment reaches some of those lost bloggers.

Have a happy Hump Day, my friends! And if you have someone to hump, get in an extra one for me, will ya?  The sadly hump-free BPOF :P


Filed under: Bipolar, Disappearing Bloggers, Psychology Shmyshmology Tagged: Bipolar, Hope, Mental Illness, Psychology, Reader

So, What Does a Bipolar Write About When They Aren’t Feeling “Polar”?

Peaceful Coexistence
Peaceful Coexistence

I am at a loss as to what to write. I do not feel bad. I do not feel good. I feel like the sine wave that is my life has flat-lined and the boat I sail in is not rocking as hard as it had been there for a bit. For a while, I thought I was going to land myself in the hospital for the first time in 4 years.

I was up, then I was down. I spent the better part of one day crying because of some delusional (yes, I know when I am about to break with reality) idea that my boyfriend of a little more than a year was actually more interested in someone else. Completely fabricated by my mind to make me insane. My rational brain knew it wasn’t true, but the siren song of delusion and near psychotic thought had me in tears from the time I woke up until I just cried myself out. The next day, I was back up. 

And, so it went for about a month; up and down, up and down, up and down. I have to say rather unpoetically that it sucked. Now, however, I don’t find myself rocking so viciously, and I am not sure how I feel about that. I am not used to living on an even keel. I have never been on an even keel…..ever. So, now I am at a loss. I don’t know how to act. This is a whole new level of Bipolar weirdness; the level where you do not feel “polar.” I can’t remember ever feeling like this. I am not too worried about it though. It shall pass. Soon, I hope. It is nearly as uncomfortable as meeting someone’s parents for the first time. Or, like you have finally achieved comfort within your mind. That mind betrays me a lot. We do not have a great working relationship, and right now the rational and the irrational are on speaking terms. It feels weird. I suppose I should be happy that the voices have quieted down for a bit. Part of me really wishes they would start talking again. I am used to that constant chatter; this lack of chatter is something that I do not think I have experienced before now.

 

Filed under: “normal”? Tagged: Bipolar, Discomfort, Feeling “Normal”

So, What Does a Bipolar Write About When They Aren’t Feeling “Polar”?

Peaceful Coexistence
Peaceful Coexistence

I am at a loss as to what to write. I do not feel bad. I do not feel good. I feel like the sine wave that is my life has flat-lined and the boat I sail in is not rocking as hard as it had been there for a bit. For a while, I thought I was going to land myself in the hospital for the first time in 4 years.

I was up, then I was down. I spent the better part of one day crying because of some delusional (yes, I know when I am about to break with reality) idea that my boyfriend of a little more than a year was actually more interested in someone else. Completely fabricated by my mind to make me insane. My rational brain knew it wasn’t true, but the siren song of delusion and near psychotic thought had me in tears from the time I woke up until I just cried myself out. The next day, I was back up. 

And, so it went for about a month; up and down, up and down, up and down. I have to say rather unpoetically that it sucked. Now, however, I don’t find myself rocking so viciously, and I am not sure how I feel about that. I am not used to living on an even keel. I have never been on an even keel…..ever. So, now I am at a loss. I don’t know how to act. This is a whole new level of Bipolar weirdness; the level where you do not feel “polar.” I can’t remember ever feeling like this. I am not too worried about it though. It shall pass. Soon, I hope. It is nearly as uncomfortable as meeting someone’s parents for the first time. Or, like you have finally achieved comfort within your mind. That mind betrays me a lot. We do not have a great working relationship, and right now the rational and the irrational are on speaking terms. It feels weird. I suppose I should be happy that the voices have quieted down for a bit. Part of me really wishes they would start talking again. I am used to that constant chatter; this lack of chatter is something that I do not think I have experienced before now.

 

Filed under: “normal”? Tagged: Bipolar, Discomfort, Feeling “Normal”

Listless

Listless is how I am feeling on this cold, gray, windy winter day. Earlier my primary thought was getting my kid to school so I could come back and nestle under the covers. The sleep disturbance of the last 14 months leaves me feeling like I can never get enough rest.

I felt like a slug yesterday because I literally did fuck all but cook spaghetti for supper. Yep. I didn’t even go to the shop. Since he went off the other night about all my shortcomings, I figure…what the fuck ever. Because I admitted those shortcomings, apologized, tried to get him to work around my current mental cycle and he refused. I’ve had many employers with more compassion and flexibility so screw him. Of course, he called yesterday evening to ask for a password to a website he uses. Once again, I couldn’t remember and failed. I am just an epic bucket of failure. What weirded me out was he texted twice while he was watching The Flash and my sleeping pill was kicking in and it was just like, wtf. ONe day you tell me I’m unreliable and useless then you’re…UM…I don’t need the confusion, though I could use the gas money given when I put up with him. I have no idea how I am gonna get my kid to school the next five days or feed my cats.

It won’t be kissing his ass, that’s for sure. My mind plays tricks on me as is, last thing I need is some drunkard taking his shit out on me then telling me it didn’t happen.

I think I’ve sold all my dvds for gas money. I have nothing to pawn. As stressful as that is, ya know what? I feel more free than I have in months. It’s like the pillow was taken off of my face and I am breathing again.

Maybe it will sort out, like last time. Mrs R sought me out cos she missed me and Spook. I will never hear an apology from him and why would I, he was probably so drunk he doesn’t remember getting so nasty. Or the ever popular “you took it out of context, I was joking.” I loooooove the way the mundanes use that to screw with my bipolar brain.

I have not been productive today. IN fact the last few days my first waking thought is, is it bedtime yet. It may be the depression talking. I set ONE goal for myself today, figuring if I can do one thing, then I’ve earned my listlessness. It was hard forcing myself to face the laundry room where all the cat boxes are and the messy clay litter feels like rocks and they can’t be scooped but have to be emptied…Ugh. But I did. I cleaned all the boxes, moved it all  to the kitchen to sweep up, put down the rugs, moved it all back, through a load of laundry into wash and a load into dry…

I’m done. Anything else I may do is gravy. And fuck anyone who says I am “limiting” myself by only setting one goal. It’s the best advice a counselor ever gave me, ya know, back in the therapy days when everything was vomiting sunshine.

The wind makes me nervous. Everything does. And I think it’s the Cymbalta. THe lower dose hasn’t helped with anxiety, and it sure as hell has sent my mood downward. Once again, I get to greet the shrink and say,hey, look, another one failed, verbally blog me for being a psychiatric hypochondriac.

Pfft.

I should eat. I already had my lithium gag fest but still, food…I am just too damn listless to bother. Instead…I think I will stare at the pretty fish aquarium video on my desktop monitor and wait for the “relaxing” thing to happen.


I’m still bipolar 

Being in recovery doesn’t mean it’s always going to be rosey. Sometimes it’s going to weird and shit, just like yesterday.  Yesterday I woke up feeling strange in an off-ish way. I hadn’t felt dreariness of that dark somber cloud in a while. I dragged myself out of bed to take the children to school. […]

I’m still bipolar 

Being in recovery doesn’t mean it’s always going to be rosey. Sometimes it’s going to weird and shit, just like yesterday.  Yesterday I woke up feeling strange in an off-ish way. I hadn’t felt dreariness of that dark somber cloud in a while. I dragged myself out of bed to take the children to school. […]