Waiting to die

I've had a rough couple of days.  The good news is that I have an appointment with my psychiatrist on the 16th.  The bad news is that it is on the 16th, which seems like a lifetime away. 

I have no idea what "normal" is in life.  My life is not normal.  Other people are able to drive places, work, shop, clean, read a book, listen to conversation, take showers, laugh, love, feel - I am unable to do those things.  I want to do those things, and try very, very hard, but I just can't. 

It is impossible to accurately describe the difficulties that I am experiencing, because I honestly have no idea what is possible or normal.  My brain fails me.  I used to do so many things.  I was capable of great things.  Now I avoid causing myself any pain by staying in my home.  I rarely go out.  If I do, there are issues, and those issues are getting harder and harder to overcome so I've stopped testing the waters.  I very quickly move from one mood to the next and have lost the ability to "snap out of it" or respond to assistance from my husband to either calm down or climb out of a deep depression.

I want to be angry about this.  I want to be sad.  I have no feelings.  I have no life.  I serve no purpose.  I am of no use to myself or anyone else like this.

My day:

Wake up.  Breakfast.  Prednisone (still dealing with the Lamictal Rash).  Check email (if I can - fear of the unknown causes me great anxiety). 

And then I sit.  And sit.  And sit.  Sometimes I fall asleep, but mostly I just sit and think about how much I hate myself.  I do not watch television because it moves too fast for me.  Conversation makes me very angry.  I do not clean the house or shower or brush my teeth.  I have some facial wipes that I will use if I remember, perhaps once or twice a week before or after bed. 

I'll have some lunch.  If the dog has to go out I see if someone else in the house will put her out.  I'll do it if I have to.  I hate looking outside. 

If the dog barks, I freak out.  If a car drives by, my heart jumps.  If I receive bad news I will cry and want to end my life.  If something good happens, I feel nothing. 

I only go to the restroom if it is an emergency.  I spend my days frozen in place.  It is mentally and physically painful to do more than that. 

My therapist says that I am not lazy.  I argued with her, but she's right - I'm not.  There are so many things that I desperately want to do - take a walk, clean my closet, fold some towels, make a phone call - but those things cause me actual pain. 

I have been like this for years.  Back when I was working, I had to make a choice - do I shower?  If I shower I will have a hard time driving to work.  When I get to work I will have to find the ability to work.  Most days I just sat there and quietly cut my skin.  I would do a couple of things (type a letter, draft a document) but that was it.  When I got home I would hit the chair and dig my skin until I fell asleep.  I usually woke up the next morning in the same spot, wearing the same clothes.  If I'd showered the day before I would just change my shirt and brush my hair before heading out the door for another day at the office.  Near the end of my employment it was common for me to go for 4 days without showering. 

Right now I only shower if I have an appointment with my therapist.  I usually go at least 5 days in a row without a shower. 

My therapy appointments are scheduled on dates and at times when my husband is off work so that I have a ride.  I do drive on occasion (to buy a breakfast sandwich or go to the market), but I should not drive.  I stay within a 4 mile radius of home so it feels relatively safe, but it is not safe.  My brain has a very hard time keeping up with the speed of driving.  I used to zoom my ass down the street like a maniac.

The zoom is long gone but the maniac remains. 

I want to take care of myself.  In my mind I do not deserve a walk or nutritious meals.  Those are reserved for people who earn a living.  I am not working and should not be spending work hours (8:00 a.m. - 5:00 p.m.) doing anything but sitting and thinking about what I should and would be doing if I had a job.   

This is not a life.  I do not have the tools to figure out how to live my life.  At this point, I have not found anyone else who knows how to help me.  Several medications have failed.  I suffered a horrible reaction to one of them, and the other two contributed to a 40+ pound weight gain in a few short weeks. 

I've lost everything.  I don't know how to make this right.  I'm just waiting to die because this is no way to live. 


 

Come Josephine in my Flying Machine

"Oh! Say! Let us fly, dear
Where, kid? To the sky, dear
Oh you flying machine
Jump in, Miss Josephine
Ship ahoy! Oh joy, what a feeling
We'll go through the ceiling
Ho, High, Hoopla we fly
To the sky so high

Come Josephine in my flying machine
Going up she goes! Up she goes!
Balance yourself like a bird on a beam
In the air she goes! There she goes!
Up, up, a little bit higher
Oh! My! The moon is on fire
Come Josephine in my flying machine
Going up, all on, Goodbye!

One, two, now we're off, dear
Oh, you, pretty soft, dear
Whoa! say, don't hit the moon
Oh, no, not yet, but soon
You for me, Oh, gee! you're a fly kid
Not me! I'm a sky kid
Gee I'm up in the air
Above you for fair..."

Last night was bad.  It was another "Just let me go...I want to die...you would be better off without me...I drag this family down...I'm tired...no more...please, just let me go..."

This morning I woke refreshed, reset, level, and ready to work on my goal(s) for the day, even though I'd clearly set none the day before because I wasn't planning on living to see today.

Going up she goes...up she goes...

Today is better.  I am a couple of pounds lighter, don't feel like dying, and managed to shop for food and drive about the city without incident.  The swings are hard to manage, but I'm here.

Right now I'm here. 

Down the rabbit hole

I have reduced my psych medications to zero as if this evening.  In doing so, I have increased my mania ten-fold.  I should be hospitalized right now.  I am relying on Valium to get me through at this point.  Valium and avoidance.  I keep away from others to keep them safe from my razor tongue.  The shit that I say doesn't even make sense but I am tearing this family apart with every slice. 

I will burn it all down if I allow myself to think about it for very long.  I'm in here - deep in here - and it HURTS to be me.

I have lost so much, all at once, that I have no idea which end is up and the losses continue.  My only daughter will turn 18 in another state, away from me, just as she turned 16 in another state - without me.  It is probably for the best because I have been most unkind to her and I DO NOT MEAN TO DO IT, but there is that damn razor tongue again.  The little bits of buried me are powerless to the force that is mania. 

It's bad.  The medication was bad.  This is bad.  It's all bad.

Monday - new doctor - please hurry.   

 

Intensive Care

I don't want to go to the hospital tomorrow.

I am afraid.

I no longer wish to take this medicine.

I am so tired.

I want my old life back.  It sucked, but it was something.  This is a whole lot of nothing.

I am losing the ability to do the things I love.  I am losing the ability to love.

I am falling apart.

Are you fucking kidding me?!

To prove a point to my stupid (self-proclaimed genius) psych nurse, who claims that it is my eating that has caused this now FORTY FIVE POUND weight gain (fucking moron, I have only lost or maintained since 2007 and my eating has not changed), I 've had almost no food in two days.  What has this given me?  A total gain of 8 pounds.  Eight fucking pounds.  OH and when I took all my meds at once as prescribed last night?  I pissed my pants right where I stood.

I am starving, exhausted, can't make it to the bathroom in time to piss, can't reach my own ass to wipe myself, my entire body is screaming in pain, and I have gained 8 pounds in two days. 

What I want to do is stop the meds immediately.  They are known "weight gainers".  Still, I know that if I do that, it will be even worse in the form of probable death, because that was where I was headed before the meds.  By my own hands.

I'm going to a show this evening.  Whatever the dress code is at the theatre -- makes no difference.  I'm wearing a fucking second hand skort from goodwill and something that looks like fish scales to cover up what looks like a triplet pregnancy.  When I lift my hands even my long shirts show my belly.

OHMYGODIJUSTWANTTOFUCKINGSCREAMANDDIERIGHTNOW!!!

I don't care about anything anymore.  Meds to keep me alive that make me want to die.  I just don't know.  I don't know.

I am not ok

I made the call to enter the intensive outpatient program at the local psych hospital.  It was difficult, but not as difficult as living inside of my own head - that place is full of pain.

I am not ok.  I am very down right now.  While I enjoyed my day and time on the coast this afternoon, the shadows moved in without my consent and have taken hold.  Every movement is a cut from a razor.  Every breath is a raging fire.  It hurts to speak, think, hear, type, sit up. 

It hurts.

My mental illnesses are going to take this poor family down.  We certainly weren't living high off the hog before (what a dreadful saying), but we did have a home, vehicles, jobs, support from family and friends - we had things.  Now I no longer have a job, unemployment will not happen (you have to be available to work), I am unemployable, entering the hospital for weeks and weeks, and somehow these bills that we barely paid before - with help - will still have to be paid without my paycheck.

HOW DO PEOPLE DO THIS?  HOW?

My husband is furiously working on this house - working against a deadline uncertain.  When will the money run out?  Will we make it that long?  Will the house be ready, show and sell before that moment when the song stops playing?

Will we be ready?  Able? 

I am not ok. 

The one thing I cling to is a statement made by a person who probably doesn't really give two shits about me - my therapist.  She said that it will be ok.  I keep saying that, but it's bullshit - how can we know?  We can't.  We don't.  We do not know. 

I am afraid to buy a bottle of water for fear that the $0.99 used to purchase that bottle of water may be necessary one of these days.  We've had those days over these last few years - not enough money for food or bills - but always paying the bills first because that is the right thing to do.

I am frozen in fear - unable to allow myself the luxury of taking a walk around the block because I should be at work right now.  I should be working.  Instead, someone else is sitting in my chair ... doing my work ... collecting my paycheck. 

I am not ok.    

Monster

I have gained 36+ pounds in just over a month.  I know for a fact that I am not eating 6500 calories a day, so the discussion the pharmacist had with me about "significant weight gain" caused by my medications, and the worry she displayed in regards to that fact, are valid.

I feel like fucking shit.  I don't have the strength to roll over in bed, so I am stuck in one spot and wake with countless aches and pains - it's like someone is beating me during my sleep every night.  Well, when I actually sleep.  I get an average of 2-4 hours a night so that is hardly sleep.  Speaking of sore, my knees are SCREAMING from the added weight that I am carrying.  I can see my ass parked in a rolling fat cart if this keeps up because the gain has been so much, so fast, that any more weight will make it impossible to walk.  Standing is torturous.  STANDING. 

I have to stop this medication that I desperately need to stay alive.  How will I do that?  Which would you choose?  I will not survive.  I will take enough pills to fall asleep on the tracks and wait for the next train.  In the alternative, I will continue down this road - each day gaining a few more pounds and looking more and more like a monster.  Each day hiding the beautiful person beneath.  When people see fat they see slovenly, lazy, stupid, gluttonous.  They do not see illness, sadness, despair, hopelessness.

 

They do not see me.

I have been sqawking about the weight gain to my psych team for weeks now - since the beginning - and neither of my mental health team members seem to give a shit.  They are only interested in getting me into a hospital.  I was nearly blue-papered twice.  I'm not insane - I just need some assistance with these medications, assholes.

The fact is that the medications are not working.  While they may be pulling the poles in, they are not stopping the mad swinging between them.  I still go from manic to depressive in a matter of minutes, several times a day.  I don't want to kill myself - that is the only  change.

Whoopdefuckingdoo.        

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.