You last got an ode to Catherine. This, by comparison, is going to sound like a total Whine Fest. It’s also going to be very honest, which some people like but others don’t, so proceed accordingly.
I’m not doing well. I’m not doing well and I’ve been trying to hide it for months, which has resulted in me just being plain old exhausted. I’ve been varying levels of depressed since October. Nothing specific happened then, that’s just when this part of the cycle started. This long, seemingly endless, helpless part of the cycle. On a scale of 0 to 10 where 0 is suicidally depressed and I need to be in the hospital and 10 is I’m doing great, I’m at about a 4. A 4 is not that terrible though because yesterday I was at a 3. Someone recently told me that using a scale helps other people understand how I’m really doing, since “not well” two days in a row could mean the same as yesterday or better than yesterday but still bad or much worse than yesterday. I’m doing everything “they” tell you to try to feel better. In my Intensive Outpatient Program (where I did group therapy 3 days a week for 3 hours a day) we talked about acting opposite to how you’re feeling and I’ve definitely been doing that. I feel like sleeping all the time and never getting out of my bed or showering, but instead I’ve been making plans and doing things. I feel like wallowing in self-pity, but instead I’m trying to be optimistic and plan things for the future.
In my IOP, we talked about negative self-talk and interrupting negative thinking patterns and I’ve been doing my best to do that. I’m not hungry like I usually am, but that could be the Vyvanse, a medication I started because I either have Binge Eating Disorder or the side effects of the medication have caused me to gain 60 pounds. I personally think it’s probably a combination of the two. At any rate, I’m now unwilling to try any new medications that have the side effect of weight gain. At least the Vyvanse, as a stimulant, gives me some energy. I think it’s the only reason I’m able to get out of bed at all. Everything seems like it takes a great deal of effort, even things that used to be easy to me like writing or reading. I have four partially finished books that I am sort of reading right now. I keep starting them and at first I can read them and like them, but even though I don’t lose interest exactly, I put them down and can’t seem to pick them back up. All of them are good and deserve to be finished, but I just can’t read for long enough to finish a book, which is extra bad because reading is one of my very favorite activities.
I joined a Meetup group for Movie Geeks in their 20s and 30s, which is mostly great and the people are super nice, but sometimes I think that no one there likes me and that the group would be better off if I wasn’t there to annoy everyone. I realize that it’s unlikely that “nobody likes me, everybody hates me, I’m so annoying,” but that’s what my self-talk is often when I’m around other people. Maybe that’s just social anxiety, but I think it’s depression, too. I keep thinking about death, also. Every time I leave the house or my parents leave the house, I become sort of obsessed with “I love you” being the last thing we say to each other because I’m terrified that something will happen to either them or to me and our last words to each other will have been something stupid. I keep worrying about something happening to River and I keep getting upset thinking about her death even though it is likely 10-11 years away. I feel guilty for not playing with her enough or taking her on walks, even though my back then my ankle have sort of prohibited that for a while, which is out of my control. Also, when I try to play with her in the back yard, she just wants to play keep away, and I can’t really keep up with my air splint on my ankle.
I feel helpless because I know I’m running out of options for treating my illness. I’ve tried most of the medications available and, as previously stated, I’m not willing to try any new ones that could cause more weight gain, which is most of the medications that I haven’t tried yet. I don’t feel hopeless yet, which is the good news. This is primarily because I know there are still options. One I have been considering recently is ECT. I haven’t yet talked with my doctor about this, but I talked with my therapist about it yesterday and she thought it was worth talking with my doctor about when I see him next week. I had blood work done last week to check my Depakote levels and I’m hoping that those are merely off and my dosage can be adjusted, but if not, ECT isn’t “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” scary anymore.
They give you a muscle relaxant, put you under general anesthesia, place two electrodes either on the right side of your head or on either side of your head, put you on oxygen, then induce a seizure for about one minute. At first they do this three times a week, then treatments become more spaced out until eventually you just have maintenance treatments. If you had asked me when I was first diagnosed if I would ever consider ECT, the answer would have been an emphatic “hell no!” It even used to be in my Wellness Recovery Action Plan under “List the treatments you want to avoid:” but I have been worn down and trampled on by this illness.
The only break I’ve had from symptoms since September of 2013 was September 2015-March 2016 when I was dealing with a large blood clot and a small pulmonary embolism. And even then I was free from mood symptoms but not from crippling anxiety. I’m grateful for those 7 months because I don’t know what I would have done if I was trying to grapple with my mood and the blood clot at the same time, but it just feels so unfair that the only break I’ve had was when I couldn’t even fully enjoy it. Plus, the entire time I kept having chest pains and thinking I was having another pulmonary embolism even though it was just anxiety and panic attacks.
While I was in the hospital and since I’ve gotten out, I’ve kept a journal, thinking that I could turn it and some of my blog posts into a memoir. I think now that I may have to change the format and possibly write it as a novel instead for legal purposes, but my point is actually that the last time that I wrote was February 6th and the last time before that was January 26th and the last time before that was January 20th. I can’t write every day anymore, no matter how badly I want to. It’s like the words just won’t come. It’s a small miracle that I’ve been able to semi-coherently draft this post.
Check on your friends that have mental health stuff. Just because they seem okay doesn’t mean they are actually okay. Let them know it’s okay for them to be honest with you and that they have a safe place to talk. Often, we feel like we have to hide how we are doing to protect the people we love from their worry about us. Someone recently told me, “no one asked you to protect them” and that is so important. It’s one of the reasons I’m sharing my feelings with you now. One of the most important things I have been told recently was “Your truth is a gift that I treasure.” You have no idea how much those words may mean to someone. Be kind. Love each other. That’s all for today.