It started Friday, after all week doing time in the dish. A break from the noise of my kid helped, but once I brought her home…It’s been downhill. Her noise is my trigger. That’s become clear. It’s not occasional, it’s not indoor voice. It’s constant, loud as she can talk, every single moment filled with her voice. And she’s glued to me. She sleeps in my bed. She sits at my elbow reading over my shoulder. She stands by me when I do dishes. She follows me to the bathroom and stands outside asking what’s taking me so long. I clean my nails, she interrogates me. I sweep the floor, she asks why. I put on clean clothes, she asks where we’re going. I LITERALLY CANNOT GET A BREAK FROM HER STUDYING ME LIKE A BUG ON A MICROSCOPE SLIDE.
This. This is my big trigger. Has always been my trigger. I’ve never liked being surrounded by people constantly, never liked constant noise, never liked having my every expression analyzed. My mom thinks it’s some, “Oh, all kids are noisy.” No. My kid goes above and beyond that norm, as is evidenced by others asking her, “Do you ever stop talking?” It’s this constant trigger that has me so stressed out in spite of Xanax. I can’t escape. And even though she stayed the night at mom’s twice last week, it’s not enough breathing room for me because the noise and invasion of space is constant. I try to set her up to do something on her own, it holds her attention ten minutes max. She then throws a screaming mimi that she’s bored or she can’t be away from me (six feet across the room.) I HAVE NO ESCAPE.
Toss all the other stress and noise of life…I am melting down.
Saturday was two steps missed. Sunday I fell down a whole flight of them. Today, I’m splayed out on that bottom step trying to catch my breath, battling the depressive lies and anxiety induced self doubt.
I even had the thought, Obviously, I’m not strong enough for this mom thing.
I’m starting to believe it. Not buy into it, but definitely give it validity. I’m in the black abyss of a depressive bout right now so everything is so much worse. I did have a ray of light poke in this morning when I checked the school website. They go back August 17. I just have to make it another month and perhaps balance will be restored when I am not held entirely responsible for her entertainment every moment of every day.
Of course, between now and then I have to survive her birthday party in a public place with my mother present. Get school clothes, supplies, do all their paperwork. Still in a holding pattern on the disability review. (The longer it takes, the worse my anxiety gets, seems cruel and unusual to take so long to give a yay or nay to someone with an exhaustive file full of anxiety that makes them physically ill.) I’m moving forward with life and yet…I feel trapped in a holding pattern. Not to mention the frustration with yet another anti depressant failing to lift me out of the abyss. It’s been max dose for six weeks and it’s barely gotten me back to a place where I even enjoy eating. So I’m gonna have to try yet another one and I know the doctor is gonna push the atypicals because that’s all any of them do anymore. Mood stabilizer isn’t my fucking problem. An eight month depression that has responded to nothing is the problem, let’s deal with that instead of shoving atypicals that make me sicker than a dog down my gullet.
Oh, but there’s my hubris, daring to declare I know myself better than doctor.
It all just sucks. Normally in July I am half manic and high functioning. I have less anxiety, I am better equipped to deal with my triggers, I WANT to go to yard sales and have water gun fights with my kid outside. Nope. Not anymore. I want to sleep. Except now my sleep is tainted by weird dreams. I took a 3mg Melatonin last night, desperate for some relief from the anxiety and depression. It kept me down an hour and ten minutes. FFS. I want off this rusty hamster wheel going nowhere. I’m not living, I’m existing. But because twice a week I shower, wear clothes that are clean, and manage to get my kid to school during school year, I am A-okay.
Pretty sure looking forward to death because nothing in life makes you feel better is not okay.
I can’t even take comfort in knowing the depression and anxiety are just that real. Because I have to feel guilty for not being strong enough to suck it up and be cured by sunshine and spewage of rainbow vomit.
The cycle will end, I know. But it always comes back and that seems to be a common theme in mental illness even when fully medicated. I’ve been watching the show Perception, which weaves mental illness in with neurochemistry and a crime drama. The lead character is this super brilliant professor of neurochemistry but he’s also Schizophrenic. At first, he refused meds. Then he had to go into the psych ward when he broke so he started an atypical. He got better for ten months. But even though he kept taking the meds his symptoms began to reappear. Then the side effects.
Is this not proof that in spite of the brilliant meds, mental illness is a chronic issue that can be “managed” yet not cured no matter how smart you are or how hard you try or how stringently you follow the “cure plan”.
I don’t know. It’s like a carousel that never stops turning. Some days it’s a pleasant relaxed ride and the horsies are pretty and the music is cheerful. Other days, it’s like the Joker is at the helm, spinning the damned thing so fast you throw up and get whiplash while screaming for the ride to stop because the brightly colored horsies are trying to eat your spleen.
I used to love carnivals. Now that I’ve been on the bipolar coaster and Medi-go-round for twenty years…Not to mention the House of Fears.. and the Whack A Mood game.
The amusement park no longer amuses me.
Originally posted on 
