Lie to Me, I Promise I'll Believe

To anyone who thinks I've been ignoring you lately,  I haven't. I've been ignoring myself so maybe by extension you, too, but I swear it's not been intentional. I've been depressed.  Not crippingly so, thankfully, but enough to feel like retreating from the world. 

This depression is different from my normal depression because it's primarily situational, not just because my brain chemicals are all out of balance. Either way, depression lies. It tells you terrible things about yourself and the world around you until it feels like the only option is to hide. This sort of depression is a little easier to deal with though because you can hold onto hope that things may be better once you get through the worst of the shitty situation. This is the sort of depression that platitudes and self help tips and hokey motivational memes are made for. This is type of depression where basic therapy works beautifully. This is not the chemical depression that is soul crushing and hope stealing. This is not the chemical depression that tells you that things will always be like this and you'll never get better.

I'm trying to get better. I've been going to therapy. I've been doing the work. I almost never miss my medicine. I have to hope that all this will be enough. Until then, know I'm not trying to be absent. I'm not trying to ignore anyone. I'm just trying to get through the worst part.

It's Been Awhile

It's been a long while since I've posted. A lot can happen in two months and that's certainly the case here. My life is pretty much completely different since I started writing this blog a few short months ago and I'm still undecided if it for better or for worse.

Let's just sort of recap the last few months:

*I had full on nervous breakdown complete with mania that kept me from eating or sleeping for days and my first ever hallucination.

*This breakdown got me a week's stay in a psychiatric hospital in Lexington known as the Ridge.

*During my stay there, actually just before it when I realized the hospital was the only choice left for me at the time,  I decided to leave my husband.

*My children and I moved back to my childhood home with my parents.

*I had another shorter trip to Ridge because the meds I was one weren't working well enough and my depression was still kicking my ass.

*I've been trying to be proactive even if on the surface it doesn't look like I'm doing much.  I've applied for disability since getting bipolar fully under control can be very difficult and take a while.  I've also applied for school at the local Ohio University branch and I'm still trying to gather all the right paperwork to make that happen.

I'll go into more detail about some of these things in later posts.  For now I just want to say I didn't take the decision to leave lightly.  It wasn't an impulse decision because of my illness. It was a long time in the making. I guess I'll just say what a lot of people getting divorced state, irreconcilable differences. I didn't think it was unreasonable to expect my boundaries to be respected or to be treated with some kindness and love when I was struggling.  Evidently those things were too much to ask of him. I'm sure he tells a different story but the results are the same. I'm trying to start over with my children with me and trying to show them a better way and trying to let them know it's okay to dream and to want to better.  It's going to take a while.

My meds seem to be right for the moment. My depression is mostly under control,  now I just get normal sad because of the situation but I'm not completely hopeless all the time anymore. My anxiety doesn't make me sick or keep me awake anymore and I take a medication that has helped with my PTSD nightmares so no more dreams about car wrecks and blood clots every night.

Overall, although I have days where that hopelessness tries to creep in, I'm looking forward to the future for the most part. Starting over is terrifying. But there's so much potential to make things great this time around.

One Week

It's been a strange week for me. The kids and I spent Sunday through Thursday at my parents house in the country because I've been feeling really unwell and home has been pure stress lately.  I needed a break. I needed some help. I needed some rest and few days to do nothing but read and create without feeling guilty for being "idle".

I've been having serious pain in my right side again but a trip to the emergency room provided no answers and only minor pain relief. After that was when I needed a few days away from as much stress as I could get away from. A lot of people think that mental illness is all about your thoughts and feelings but that's not true. High levels of anxiety for extended periods of time will absolutely wreck you physically as well. It will change your appetite and sleep patterns which will result in fatigue, stomach and intestinal distress, headaches, dizziness, chest pain, all manner of discomfort. When you feel like this for a while it becomes really hard to practice self care. Rest seems impossible even though you feel exhausted. You forget to eat or just don't eat because you know it will just make you sick. Currently, if never eating again was an option I would absolutely take it. I've not eaten anything that hasn't made me feel ill on weeks. I'm dropping weight and sure that's not the worst thing considering my size but I'd much rather be fat and happy than lose weight like this. The bigger problem is that sleep and regular meals are vital to my mental well being. If I mess up either of them I spend the time until I'm back on track fluctuating between high anxiety and crippling depression. It's an incredibly shitty cycle to get stuck in.

Wednesday was three months since Bryn's suicide. I wanted to blog about her. I wanted to talk about her as I knew her but I just couldn't. Somehow there were too many things to say and not enough words to say any of it the right way. I loved her so much, I can't stand the thought of not honoring her the right way. One day I will.  One day I'll have the words. But I don't yet.

When we came back to Lexington on Thursday I had an appointment with a specialist my therapist referred me to. She's a psychiatric nurse practitioner who specializes in women's mood disorders specifically related to hormones, and I love her. I went to see her about my PMDD in hopes of finding some sort of treatment so that I don't want to kill myself two to three days a month, every month,  until I go through menopause. Within five to ten minutes of talking with her she could tell I was bipolar.  She was amazed that I had never received that diagnosis before because evidently it's pretty obvious. I had a doctor in the past mention that it was a good possibility but I was never started on treatment for it. The specialist started me on mood stabilizers immediately and seems pretty confident that I can get better with monitoring and the right medication. For the first time in a while I have reason to be hopeful that I may not always be an emotional train wreck.

Yesterday was the four year anniversay of my pulmonary embolism. I usually refer to it as my clotiversary. That blood clot turned my whole life upside down and fucked up all of my plans. If it wasn't for that clot I'd probably being playing with radiation in a hospital by now,  probably hating my job but making a good amount of money. Things would be a lot easier for my family so I would grin and bear it. I guess that wasn't to be though. That freak health occurence made me see myself and life in a different way. Some people would come away from it thankful to be alive and hopeful and with a renewed appreciation for life. I'm not wired like that. Sure, I have days like that sometimes but mostly I came away scared.  I came away doubting myself, not trusting my body, seeing myself as weak and damaged, and completely lacking the ability to cope. I'm still working on overcoming all of those things. And some days it's amazingly hard.

Today I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep much and when I did my dreams were violent and dark. I woke up, I don't know,  distressed may be the right word. Nights like that just make me ruminate all the next day. I think about me, my life,  the state of the world, the world my kids are going to grow up in, how it all seems to be going to hell in a handbasket. It's hard to not spiral into depression when I haven't slept.  So today I'm just working on self-care and trying to not think we're all doomed.

Take a Look, It's in a Book

I've loved reading since I was a child. If I had the choice to go play outside or find myself a hiding spot and read a book you would find me with a book every time. I remember reading my first chapter book in first grade and after I had kids I went out of my way to find that same book for my kids who have shown zero interest in it (of course it was a kid's horror book, I like what I like). There is a joy in reading that I don't find anywhere else. The ability to step into someone else's shoes for a while is an escape that's hard to find any other way.

As an adult I've continued to love to read and books have helped me through some of the roughest parts of my life. I'm pretty sure I survived pregnancy on fiction alone. All the other women in the waiting room were reading What to Expect When You're Expecting or magazines and there I sat with a Chuck Palahniuk  or the newest Harry Potter book. I know nurses totally judge you and your pain level by your ability to focus but through my worst pain and stays in the hospital the only thing that kept me from crying the whole time was distracting myself by reading. It's also one of the only thing that quiets my mind enough when my anxiety is raging so that I can sleep.

For the past several years I've basically used my Kindle as a security blanket. It goes where I go and I'm on my third one because I'm a klutz who breaks things. I have way more books on there than I can ever read but I'm certainly going to try. I wanted to list some books today that have made a difference in my life. Things that have calmed or comforted me when I needed it. Things that have helped me learn to cope or at least made me not feel alone.

Funny things from crazy people:

Hyperbole and Half by Allie Brosh If you've ever been to her super popular blog of the same name you'll know a lot of this material. There are however some new and hilarious stories included in the book and I'm super excited that there is another book coming out later this year. Allie Brosh has a way of telling a story like no one else.

Let's Pretend This Never Happened by Jenny Lawson The Bloggess (Jenny Lawson) is one of the funniest women alive in my opinion. She's just so unabashedly her and she is just so weird. In this book we get more insights into what created this beautifully warped woman. You really should read it. But not in public because people will think you're crazy when you start laughing out loud uncontrollably.

Self-Help and the like that I've actually found useful:

Absolutely anything by Brene Brown. I'm currently reading Rising Strong  after watching Brene Brown's first TedTalk on vulnerability. Basically everything she says is life changing. It makes you look at yourself, really look at yourself, and see what's hold you back instead of building you up. You will see yourself somewhere in her writing, there's no way around it, and you will want to change. You will want to be better and feel better and let people in and you will start trying to find ways to do all of those things. And you will be grateful.

Exercise for Mood and Anxiety by Michael Otto I know I don't talk about exercise much because it's not one of my favorite things but I do go through spells where it's useful and I enjoy it. I do find that my moods and outlook do improve when I exercise consistently but trying to exercise when you are at the bottom of a depression cycle is nearly impossible. You're exhausted and everything hurts and you don't see the point. However, I find exercise to be extremely helpful when anxious. It helps get out some of that extra energy that can lead to panic attacks (that's right, not every panic attack starts in your brain with active worrying, some are very much a physical response).

The Goddess Path by Patricia Monaghan Although nowadays I identify more as an atheist than anything, I was a pentacle wearing, nature worshipping, Tarot reading pagan for a very long time. I still love nature and reading Tarot and I still love this book. It tells the stories of ancient goddess from different pantheons and then asks introspective questions at the end of each section. There are rites and rituals included that I never really got into but I love that workbook aspect of this book. Reflection is often the key to self improvement and the questions raised ask you to reflect on yourself and experiences in uncommon ways.

Fiction that changed my life:

*It should be said that I read a LOT of horror so I don't stumble onto this sort of stuff very often or easily. I don't read a lot of literary fiction or romances or coming of age stories because those things don't usually hold my interest terribly long. If it's fiction and I like it there is probably something weird going on or an element of fantasy or science fiction interwoven into the narrative.*

The Frugality Trilogy by Stuart Ayris I can't really articulate what these books and this writer means to me. Seriously. It was like I picked up each book in this trilogy at exactly the right time in my life. I'm not really sure that anyone else has had that connection to it but each book does have extremely good reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. It is a bit of a hidden gem though. And Mr. Ayris, being an independent writer and self-published, is fantastic about reader interaction. After I reviewed the last book in the trilogy on Goodreads he contacted me and offered to answer any of my questions that were still present at the end and he really did mean it. I asked some extremely personal and difficult questions and he was very forthcoming and kind. I have several other books by him on my Kindle that I cannot wait to get to because he just gets it. He writes depressed and anxious characters, flawed characters, and just real people like no one I have seen.

The Sterile Cuckoo by John Nichols I read this book while I was in high school, I think. I don't remember what drew me to it but I remember that I loved it and it was unlike anything else I would usually read. It still holds a special place in my heart.

I'm sure there are more and I hope to do more posts like this in the future as I remember other books or read new ones. I'm currently reading Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs which I am thoroughly enjoying so far. If you have Goodreads, add me there, I love to see what other people are reading, too.

Not Good Poetry 1

As I've watched myself grow older and larger
I've felt myself get smaller inside
I've been shrinking
Shrinking away from confrontations
Shrinking away from having opinions
Shrinking away from anything that could someone to judge me
Please don't judge me
I judge myself more harshly than you ever could
So know that it's been taken care of
I've been taken care of
I've been dealt with
My spirit has been appropriately broken
No reason someone like me should think kindly of themselves anyway
No reason I should complain
I am the complaint
Complaints don't have the rights to feelings and needs
Only people do
I'm not people
I'm just this skin sac that causes all the problems
I am the problem
I know
I've been listening even though you haven't
Not that you could hear me
I lost my voice years ago

What's a Girl to Do

I'm in a creative rut. I've felt for the last few weeks that I'm right on the verge of a great idea that just won't come out. It's extremely frustrating. I've started many projects recently but don't feel capable of finishing them. Depression and anxiety often suck out my ability to create, concentrate, and focus and that's one of the hardest parts of the illnesses for me. I thrive on making beautiful or interesting things. I don't create, I don't thrive. 

Sometimes I just need a push. In some cases a gentle one, in some cases it's more like out of an airplane, hopefully, with a parachute on. I'm not sure which one will do it in this case. I can waste whole days sometimes just looking for inspiration. I'll spend hours on Pinterest, Etsy, Craftsy, Facebook groups dedicated to my art of choice, looking up articles, the list goes on, just to get a good idea. Sometimes this works, sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it just makes me want to go to Michaels and spend a lot of money I shouldn't. 

Currently I have several paid cross stitch projects I need to work on and I've recently gotten involved in a writing project I'm pretty excited about. I also have the supplies to make some seriously cute owl candles. I also started trying to make a stuffed animal net for my daughter's room but I put it down a few days ago and I'm pretty sure it's just one giant yarn knot now. I got some amazing adult coloring books and gel pens for Christmas and Valentine's Day (Harry Potter beasts coloring book is amazing, by the way) but I sometimes feel like I could be doing more productive stuff when I color. 

Today my focus seems to be writing. I was doing research for a story earlier and got some good notes taken. I'm going to read through some of the dozens of Kindle books I've downloaded about writing and the writing process. I'm blogging which I need to do more often. I've got all the stories stored up in my head and it's like they're having a fist fight to see who can get to the front of the line. I've always struggled with fiction though, even if I have a good idea. I can write a good beginning, middle, or end but struggle with doing all three. I'll either know how the story starts or know where the plot is going to lead but working out the details between can be difficult for me. That's why I'm going to study more about writing. It's something I've always been good at when I am determined to do it but it doesn't take a whole lot for me to lose my determination. I've been having thoughts like poetry again lately and maybe one day I'll share those. I may dig out some of the stuff I've written previously for a first poetry post. 

I've also wished often lately that I had stayed involved in music. I miss playing an instrument. I miss being onstage. I miss singing with other people. I miss singing for other people, even though it often scared the shit out of me. There is something about that fear that is familiar and comfortable. And when the experience is over and you have good feedback it's rewarding and affirming and you wonder why you got worked up in the first place. That sort of thing makes it so when I'm freaking out about something else I can look at that situation and think I freaked out for no reason maybe this will go well, too. It's been a long time since I've had that sort of situation to reflect on and grow from. 

I feel like there is music that would help me unlock my creativity currently but damned if I know what it is. I've been listening to a variety of stuff to see if anything moves me but, so far, no luck. I feel like there is a particularly emotion that is blocking me that I need to tap into but sometimes sorting your emotions can be extremely difficult. Especially when you have depression and anxiety, you go through lows that feel like numbness and highs that feel like you are feeling everything all at once and don't know why. Sometimes it's hard to sort what is truly your emotions from what is your mental illness reacting to a situation. Neither situation invalidates your emotions but finding that thing that you really need to work on can be next to impossible when you aren't sure why you feel that way. 

I was supposed to go to therapy yesterday. Maybe that would have helped. But issues with a lifelong chronic illness kept me at home. I was diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome (IBS) as a child and it's never gotten better, if anything it gets a little worse each year and it's difficult to treat without causing other problems. Yesterday I woke up sick, feeling like I was going to throw up for hours but never did. My stomach hurt because all of my intestines were spasming for hours. The only medication that has ever helped with is Levsin and I don't have a current prescription for it. I was sick for many years before a doctor ever even told me that there was medicine available to help. When I had to have a colonoscopy in 2012 they actually witness and IBS attack during the scope and so they finally gave me medicine for it. The problem with the medicine though is that it makes me extremely thirsty and extremely tired. Also, since moving last September finding a doctor that listens and believes me has been extremely trying and I don't want to have another camera shoved up my ass just deal with an issue that's already been diagnosed. It seems like overkill. I've gotten it mostly under control by eliminating a lot of food that makes me sick but I still have bad days, like yesterday. Anxiety tends to makes IBS worse so sometimes it's not just my brain out to ruin my day. 

Now my next therapy appointment isn't until April 19 but I do have an appointment with a nurse practitioner that specializes in women's behavioral health, specifically mental illness related to hormonal problems, on April 14 so I feel like I am at least getting on the right track. I've also been putting in school and job applications. I'm not entirely sure that I'm ready to handle either right now but I can't hide forever. Ideally, I'd love to be able to work for myself, making money off of arts and crafts and writing. I'm hard on myself but I'd probably be the most understanding boss I could find. I have been working towards those goals but it is such slow going, especially when you're stuck in a rut. So I'm off to look for inspiration again. Wish me luck. 

I'm Just Being Honest

Since I've started this blog I've gotten a few comments about people wishing they could be as open as I am about, well, I guess everything. Let me let you in on a secret. Being open and honest with yourself is a lot harder than being open and honest with other people. At least that's been my experience. Once I tell myself the truth and accept it, it's a lot easier to let others in.

Another thing I should tell you, is that being as candid as I have been about some things is not easy. It's actually really fucking hard. It leaves you raw. It makes you uncomfortable. It makes you confront things that make you feel shame. It makes you think about things you try not to on a regular basis. But it's also wonderful. You find others relate to your stories and that helps with feeling isolated. You find people love you for who you are, flaws and all. You confront those painful, uncomfortable things and you can see how they've made you who you are today, for better or for worse. And you confront your shame and when people know your secrets and still love you and accept you, what do you have to feel ashamed of?

I went a very long keeping everything inside. I put on my face for the world and kept almost all but the most insignificant parts of me buried. Every few years everything that I had been pushing down would come bursting out of me all at once. These are the times I said all the things that I thought I shouldn't. I stopped caring who I hurt because keeping it all bottled up was hurting me. For a brief time I would just lay it all out and I would cry and I would yell and I would cut people out of my life, sometimes for good. These times were/are stressful and the only way I know to stop being like that is to let it out, on my own terms, in more of a trickle or light stream instead of in the flash floods and tsunamis that used to overwhelm me.

With that being said, there are some things that even I won't share publicly. Things that are full of too much pain for me to process them on my own. Things that only a handful of my closest people know because they cause me intense, unjustified shame. Things that I am not willing to confront because there is no resolution. There is no way that I can think about it and see it as a learning experience, that just will never happen. These are the things that cause me to break down. These are the things I can't let go. Maybe one day I will, and then I can talk about it, but I'm not there yet.