On my own...again

All of my appointments have been cancelled.  I have no therapy, psych nurse practitioner or psychiatrist/med management appointments at all.  I am on my own...again.  We've come full circle.  It's hard to avoid feeling down right now.  I thought someone had discovered the elusive answers to the issues that have consumed my life.  I thought that things would get better from that point forward.  There would be hard work, but I was willing to do that work - to put forth an honest effort to invest in my health, something I have been unable to do until now because I simply did not know where to begin...what was wrong...how to fix it.  I was told that it would "get better from here." I put faith and complete trust in that statement.  I believed that statement with every cell in my misfit body.  I had hope. 

Everything happened all at once back in April.  All of the balls that I had flying in the air came crashing down.  I was up and down and up and down and down and...down.  I wanted to die.  I wanted to live.  I wanted to squeeze the shit out of life with my fabulous plans...fabulous plans that I could not make happen because my mind was a jumble of bits and pieces and nothing fit.  Nothing made sense.

I fell into the deepest and most frightening despair of my life.  Self harm was almost constant.  I would cut my stomach with scissors under my desk at work (usually while my boss was grilling me), claw at my body at home, in the car, while I was sleeping.  When I saw blood, I felt better.  Contrary to what most people say about self-harm being a release and a cry for help - it was more; I wanted to die.  I made plans to die.  I was going to take my life.  The living world had lost its pull on my heart and all that was left was my mind.  My mind was saying yes to the end.  It felt right to finish the journey.  People would be better off without my negative energy in their lives.  They would go on.  Be better.  Do better.  Learn from my illnesses.  I had to give myself permission to stop trying so fucking hard to be well.  I gave myself permission to stop pretending. 

It happened all at once. 

After letting the mask fall, I told my husband that I had to leave.  I wasn't going to, but after 20+ years of marriage I was not going to leave him with a letter.  I was not going to leave this world without saying goodbye to my one true friend.  He did not ask me to stay, but he did beg me to wait.  He stopped everything and asked that I join him in a discussion with our family doctor.  I agreed and we saw him the next morning.  Our family doctor referred me to a therapist and psych nurse practitioner.  After some discussion and many tests, they diagnosed me with several disorders and started therapy and medicine.  I had hope, I think.  I certainly had something.  It gave me a moment to focus on myself - perhaps to stay alive and see if I could salvage the second half of my life.  Perhaps find joy.  No, not even joy.  I desperately wanted PEACE in my heart and mind.

The answer quickly turned sour and became a problem.  Another problem.  Another thing to endure and survive.  I tried.  I FUCKING TRIED, but the cure was just another cross to bear, and my weary shoulders had long since worn out.  I gained a massive amount of weight, pissed my pants, drooled, and started to loathe the very sight of my ever-expanding, hideous body.  This was not the answer.

I discussed my issues with Lithium and Risperidone at every appointment, but my concerns fell on deaf ears.  I felt like a prisoner to another problem.  It was my problem - they gave it to me and expected me to make it work.

That did not work.  I spoke and no one listened.  I became the patient.  The mental patient.  I was not a partner in my own care - my opinion did not matter.  I had no say - no control.  The people charged with my care - my life - would just ignore my questions and carry on as though they were never asked.  I would ask again, and the conversation would continue.  I was invisible.  My input did not matter on this train.   

In the meantime, I had a career and responsibilities.  I have a husband and children.  I have a home.  I have an extended family.  There were life events - graduations, college, new responsibilites, injuries, demands, bills...

It happened all at once.

My boss, who had abused me for years (and I permitted it because I needed that job), layed the final straw on the trembling pile when he demanded that I cancel two medical appointments and tell personnel why I had those appointments.  I made the decision to leave my job of almost 11 years.  In doing so, I knew that I would leave that career forever.  I'd lost my edge many years ago and it was time.

It happened all at once.

I wanted to die, attempted to die, left my job, received shitty care, was twice almost involuntarily committed, agreed to a forced intensive outpatient program that nearly killed me, gained 45 pounds, and lost every last regular contact with coworkers, colleagues and clients.  I lost control, my self-respect...I lost nearly everything.

I'm right back where I started, only now I have nothing, save my husband.  I have less than nothing because my care up to this point has cost me thousands of precious dollars and did nothing but make things worse.  I am obese.  I am battling serious adverse effects of Lamictal.  The children (3) will soon be off (one is already) to colleges and careers.  We have to sell the house.  Life is forever altered because I dared to ask for help. 

I am exhausted.  There is nothing left under my burned skin.  I feel a small twinge of life deep inside, but those have let me down before.  The plan going forward is quite simple:  set goals, do my best, focus on what I have accomplished and not what is left undone at the end of the day.  If I run off the rails, I will seek help.  "Help" has been very unkind to me, but the twinge is telling me that I should keep trying.  Is this good?  No, no this is not good.  This is a dangerous time.  I know that.  My family knows that.  We tried.  I tried.  That twinge is all I have and I pray that it is enough to carry me through to the next source of help and hope, if there is such a thing. 

It's all me.  The scary part is that I have no idea who the hell "me" is.   

   

Inside out

I’m scattered about today. Everything is misspelled and difficult to write and my mind is racing. My mind is racing but unable to be still and make a decision. My handwriting is a mess to the instructor but I can read it. I cry in the parking lot on the phone with my husband. It’s too much – I’ve lost the ability to understand – I glaze over and miss key points. He comforts me but not really; his words are a tinny echo.

I talk too much – too fast – take up the workshop time. I ask “good questions” but am distracted and distracting. People stare. What do they see? Me, fat? Me, unsure? Me?

For some odd reason confused people ask me questions, assuming that I would know the answer, be able to answer, have the answer … do I appear ok to you? Trust yourself because I am not to be trusted.

I do not have the energy to get up to get my medicine in the cabinet. I am too tired to ask someone else to get it. I do not want to make the noise necessary to ask. I hate the sounds of chewing and talking and television and, jesus fucking christ, stop the useless babble! What you’re saying means nothing at all right now. What problem are you solving with your discussion? What good is it? Why bother?

I like silence. I would prefer quiet. However my mind is most unquiet and the world is deafening.

Every cell is shaking. I hold myself in static positions. Why? From fear? Of what? My husband keeps swaying his knee. The dog pounces on her toy and walks by my chair. WHY do people and animals just move about like this? It’s wasted energy. You must have a purpose for what you do. I click my teeth when I read and count – for every beat.

I just want to breathe, all by myself. I am the brain of the house – isn’t that frightening? It’s exhausting – I get tired. I have a hard time sleeping because once I start the brain wheel it spins and spins and reaches breakneck speed. You do not stop something like that all at once…or at all. It just burns out. The stops are very dark. The stops are very dark when you alone hold the key to the starts. I have a malfunctioning brain at the helm of a confused and abused body; certainly the most useless thing of all.

Alone for a few moments. I asked for this and am so thankful for the break from the noise. No typing now … it is time to bring it down. Just me, the wind in the trees, the chimes, and the dog.

Right hand on my chest, and the breath.

Who am I?

Therapy today.  We discussed the new doctor and mood stabilizer (Lamictal).  I’ve been depressed…very down.  All things stop when I am like this – even self care.  I had to shower today because an appointment means that I must leave the house and be with other people who know how to live – who have the ability to live life with others.  Since my daughter left for college (and even prior to that), I have not showered.  I’m guessing at least 5 days.  This is not uncommon for me (or others in my present condition).  I am told that this will improve as symptoms improve with therapeutic medication levels.    

I have a long way to go.  My therapist assures me that I will get there, but it takes time.  I’m running on blind faith here.

We discussed things to this point.  I had it all – if you can call what I was living all; high-pressure career, appreciative clients, respect of my colleagues, all of which consumed my life for the last thirteen years; there was no balance.  I had nothing left after 5:00 p.m. 

Employers love people like me.  Our ultra-perfectionist nature is rewarded with ever-increasing work.  We are the all-too-willing community teat for the rest of the fucking slackers.  My therapist said (again) that she is shocked I made it as long as I did in that position/condition.  The unfortunate thing about employees like me is that we burn out in epic fashion, leaving the employer with a bit of a mess to clean up in the aftermath.  How many people will it take to do my job?  Well, I took some time off once and five people had a hard time getting shit done.  Stupid business practice, but I was a willing participant - always ready to please and please and please the unpleasable machine. 

We discussed my OCD, specifically my obsessive planning.  Some people can just go to the beach and enjoy.  I begin three days prior to that beach trip thinking about (in exhaustive detail) what to pack, food (recipes), parking, various routes to the location, cost, gas, how many people, does everyone have a towel, do we need extra sunscreen, what about the dog…packing the car two days before, gassing it up, first aid kit…

I said that I envy people who can just grab a towel and go – without a care – and enjoy the day.  I suck the joy from everything before we even get there.  I do that with everything in my life.  Everything.  I just clicked my teeth for every word written on this page.  I will make sure that the windows are up in my car eight times before I exit.  Everything I do is obsessively and compulsively regimented.  Everything. 

Once my moods have stabilized, we will begin to discuss me.  Who am I – really?  What makes me happy?  What do I like to do?  I've discussed this before; I do not have the answers to these questions – I never really did.  I was all work and that nearly killed me.  I’ve never asked myself these questions.  Why bother?  I was already dead.

My homework is to set a single goal each day and follow through.  Today, I showered.  Perhaps I will do something else.  I will note these accomplishments and do the same the next day.  If I fail to accomplish my goal(s), I am to focus on what went right, NOT obsess over what went wrong.  I have to learn that the "to do" list never ends.  I will never finish it.  Deadlines aside (another discussion) it is ok to leave things for the next day.  When the list is finished, you are finished.  That is life. 

My response to this homework assignment was a deep, tearful breath.  It’s like starting over from infancy with crawling, speaking, walking … and so on.  I crashed.  This is the bottom.

It is a long goddamn climb back to uncertain territory.  Will the view from the top be the horror that I remember?  I am not accustomed to not knowing how things will progress, so this work is particularly painful for me.

My car needs gas.  I haven’t pumped gas in weeks.  The last time I tried to pump my own gas I kicked the ever-loving dog shit out of the gas pump (and injured myself) in a manic fit of rage.  I have set a goal to gas up the car, by myself, again today and see how it goes.

Right now. 

    

Goodbye for now

I don't know which end is up.  My daughter leaves for college today and I am, to say the very least, a bloody mess.  It has taken much in the way of sobbing, bawling, uncontrollable scratching, shaking, a couple shots of Valium, and little wounded noises bursting forth from my soul to come to a place where I can say that this is good.  I raised her to do this - to go forth and start her life.  To be independent.  To use her talents to help others.  She has accomplished so much and come so far in her life.  This is the ultimate goal of parenting.  Unfortunately, no one prepares you for the intense pain that comes along with saying goodbye.  If I had been well enough I would have done more with her.  We would have spent time together - doing things. 

Time is over.  There is no time.  Time will now be spent loading a vehicle for the trip to college and checking for last-minute things.  No doubt we will forget some things.  No doubt I will lose my fucking mind when I enter her bedroom to clean and stage it for selling our home. 

No doubt.  That is the day that I will remove all evidence that she existed in this house (potential buyers demand a near clear slate).  The hard days will continue.

I am frozen in place - unable to move.  If I move time will move, right?  If I move events will happen faster.  I do not want that.  Time, after the brain, is our most valuable asset.  I am out of both.
  
The fact that I suffer from mental and physical illnesses makes this harder.  I'll admit that.  I know some parents who are excited to let their children go.  I cannot imagine being like that.  That requires a selfish side that I do not possess.  I do not live through my children, but my life has been spent caring for my children - to the best of my ability.  I did a good job, and took that job seriously.  I hope I did a good job.  They are wonderful.  Now is the time that I have been dreading.  How did it get here so fast?

Time.

I have things to do and everything is so much harder for me these days.  The pressure from others who do not understand how difficult even the simple tasks can be is tough to manage, but we go on and do. 

I'm off to go on and do. 

PEACE. 

Revealing the Beast

As I mentioned yesterday, I completed most of my pre-Lithium testing, save the EKG.  I promised to get to the hospital today, and I did.  The cardiographic technician, who looked an awful lot like me, was wonderful.  She did not keep me waiting, which was good because - as we know from my first post (http://mymiddleroad.blogspot.com/2012/04/it-has-name.html) - I have an issue with waiting in a crowded, noisy room.

As I entered the testing room it occurred to me that I would have to remove my clothes.  Panic filled my chest.  The skin all over my body immediately started to crawl with heat and pain.

I have to remove my clothes.  This lovely lady will see my self-injury.  I am ugly.  I am hideous.  These injuries are visual representations of the intense pain in my mind and they are not meant to be seen by others.  We hide these feelings.  I have to run.  I have to leave.  I have to get out of this room. 

I must leave this room!

Instead I took a moment, removed my jacket, sat on the exam table, took a deep breath and spoke - softly at first ... searching for the right words and pleading with my larynx to grant me the sound to create them.

"I am sorry.  You may or may not already know this, but I am here for pre-Lithium testing.  I was recently diagnosed with various disorders and one of them involves self-harm.  I have injuries on my stomach ... and other areas, and apologize for what you are about to see.  It is a great embarrassment to me and it would be easier to leave this room now, but I need to do this to move forward in my care.  I will need your help."

The technician made me feel at ease.  She asked me to trust her and not to be afraid.  At her request, I removed my shirt and .... this is very hard for me ... I removed my shirt and allowed her to place the leads on my body.  She was quick and did not remain in any one area for long.  The test was over in just a few moments and revealed a normal sinus rhythm.  I am cleared to begin Lithium on Tuesday.

Every small step I take on this road to a stable life is a victory over decades of anguish and pain.  I have met compassionate people along the way and appreciate their kindness and understanding as I struggle to heal my physical and emotional wounds.

Therapy

Before I begin I think it is important to note that these posts are very difficult for me to write.  I force myself to power through because it is important that I document these days as I search for balance in my life. 

The posts are difficult in that I am forced to read and re-read them over and over again.  When I read, I click my teeth once for each word on the page.  If I lose my place or train of thought, I have to start over from the beginning.  I usually write these posts in a very short period of time, all at once, and then read them over and over again, clicking my teeth or tapping my face, and then hit send -- never changing a thing from the original post. 

This is just one part of the whole messed up picture.  Still - I work, love, live, do.  I persevere.       

I love my therapist.  She is intelligent, funny, respected among her peers, and has been doing this work for over 30 years.  She knows her stuff and it shows.  I feel safe in her presence.  She focuses on results and that is something I appreciate.

I did most of the talking today (don't I always?).  Today she said, "I have to remind myself why we are here because, as a general rule, bipolar people are very entertaining. You are no exception."

Among other things we confirmed some of my diagnoses (after consult with the psych doc), and it is a considerable list: 

Bipolar disorder - rapid cycling
Anxiety disorder, to include hypersensitivity to sound and self harm
Panic disorder
OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder)
Impulse control disorder, to include neurotic excoriation
Binge eating disorder
PTSD (mild)

There is more, but the issues fall under one or more of the above-listed disorders.  We have a lot of work to do.

We discussed my apprehension regarding Lithium, and she made it very clear that it was worth trying, so I will - starting Tuesday - after my next therapy/psych appointments.  I need to have an EKG before we begin Lithium therapy (I completed all of the blood work, etc.), but finding the time to get this done is difficult in my busy life.  Tomorrow is the day.

***
Please feel free to leave a comment on this or any of my other posts.  I appreciate all who take the time to read these posts and welcome your feedback.  Anonymous posts are permitted, however off-topic discussions or spam will be deleted.  Thank you.