My disorders, and the extreme cold thus my kid being glommed onto me due to school being cancelled, has me hanging by a thread. It takes every ounce of strength to just fix her cheese and crackers or a turkey sandwich. Vacuuming feels like futile because the thing spits out more than it sucks up and I can’t find any clogs. Dishes get washed and pile right back up. Finances took a bad bad turn so I can’t even afford to go to the laundromat, that is WHEN my car doors aren’t frozen shut.
To top it all off, after my sister’s brother in law’s suicide New Year’s Day…our uncle is in the hospital 40 miles away, with bone cancer, pneumonia, and the flu and his heart is failing, they don’t think he’s going to make it. Mom’s been living up there by his side as he is her last living sibling (of nine) and she is taking it really hard even if they barely spoke for the last 30 years.
I feel like an idget for complaining about my petty little plight, but depression gives zero fucks. I have actually taken to writing to stave off my own thought madness and finished an entire Jonathan Kellerman novel in 3 days. And now I have started a second one by him only…
All the psychology gobbledygook where the main psychologist character diagnosis everyone’s disorders…Now I am all paranoid about what my docs think of me. And what life maiming notes doc nurse put in my chart and how that will taint the new doc against me in March. Is it logical? The level of terror and paranoia (terr-anoia?) is illogical but human behavior dictates that most people, even professionals, will take the word of their colleagues in the form of session notes and possibly commit to that notion before giving a new client a chance to present.
That is my biggest fear.
The whole cognitive and mindfulness drivel is about living in the now, changing your negative thoughts and behaviors, yet if your past leads to problems in your present, it’s kind of hard not to beat yourself up.
Once I started reading about my meds and how alcohol can cause seizures with Wellbutrin…I got the message loud and clear. I fucked up by drinking. It was self medicating to dull the nerves and noise but I’d thought at worse it would make me sleepy and hells yeah, I want that. But seizures??? And the nurse didn’t even mention that even while giving me her disapproving expression. I guess what with my Google-itis before there was Google, just the desktop prescription manual, I should know every med and side effect ver batim but this one…I did not know. I’m not suicidal, I don’t want to die. I mean, I don’t much want to live these days but I have a kid and even a momentary lapse in working thru my misery and trying to off myself could mean they take her away from me….Irksome as her behavior can be, she is my heart and I don’t want to hurt her, me, or die, or lose her because they deem me unfit.
Unstable, sure. Were I stable I could handle a damned job and get out of this self esteem purgatory. Maybe even live a little better than paycheck to paycheck and getting food stamps. I TRIED, the whole thing with R and helping at the shop would get me a decent car…Once I hit my breaking point, he just swept me aside. His way or no way, as always. Not a word since I said no more. Some friend. But I did try! I was even thinking differently than I had in the past, thinking that having a routine of sorts, getting out of the house, helping out, gave me purpose and self worth. This was no small feat, me walking away from a better car. It was him and his bidding or me in a rubber room and I truly believe this even if doc nurse blew it off completely.
I am trying to be different. But with my spotty psych care and crap choices for therapy, it feels hopeless. And reading books where terms like “bipolar axis 2” and “thinking disorder” and “borderlines” are thrown around wily nily…I start going ocd with the thoughts that because I have some flaws and some quirks (I don’t want cured of my quirks, wearing black and liking skulls hurts no one) that I will always be written off as some behavioral problem who needs medicated and ushered out, tough love. Which was what doc nurse seemed to be giving.
I need to let it go but I’m not there yet. Which is another point, my therapists hated my process of holding a grudge for months and maybe years until I could let some stuff go. (I still haven’t quite let go of how the donor basically ditched his daughter, even though the counselor told me 6 years I had to let it go…I ain’t fucking Elsa.) All my insecurities and neuroses and self doubt start bubbling to the surface and maybe now is not the time to be reading a book on the topic of bipolar and personality disorders because obviously it’s been a trigger. But then isn’t the new tough love therapy about facing what triggers you?
Bloody hell! I am lost. I want to do well, be better, and yet I feel doomed. And it’s not merely circumstantial depression, this is full blown seasonal wish-I-was-a-hibernating-bear depression. I mean, really, bathing twice in a week is the best I can do? My idea of hygiene is deodorant and brushing my hair? I wear the same clothes 2 days at a time sometimes…All of this seems more of a red flag than one alcohol bender but the nurse doc..doc nurse…whatever the hell she is…
LOST.
And again…not letting it go. NOT ELSA.
Though in the midwest this year I am frozen.
