Oh my god…for real

Since my most recent breakdown last week that involved smashing my own hand several times with a blunt (and not-so-heavy) object, I’ve been fighting to get back to a normal train of thought and existence. I’ve been fighting it, and I’m exhausted. The black vortex has been trying to suck me in to the bad, nasty thought patterns that are so common and prevalent with depression. I’ve been working double-triple-quadruple-overtime to get my brain back on track. I’ve been talking myself up: “Hey, I love myself! There’s NO reason WHATSOEVER to be feeling this way! Enjoy the sunshine! Enjoy life!” …Only to be met by the darkening cloud coming in to suck my soul away.

I’ve been trying to just relax, do fun things, watch my weekly rounds of internet TV, hang out on Facebook, read a book (though I read it already. Now that I’ve got regular access to my memory, this can be compared to keeping a cat entertained: “But I already saw this one two weeks ago and I flung it under the refrigerator! You’ve GOT to be kidding me! How about the little red bug? I never seem to catch that thing!”), write in my journal, distract myself from thinking these thoughts, or just try to get them to go away in general in a vain attempt to actually FEEL GOOD. Because now I know what it’s like, and like the cracked-out addict in the corner, I want more. I want more happiness. I want more love. I want more function. I want to be healthy. I want to be creative and productive.

…Since last week’s freak-out (nervous breakdown), I’ve been trying to recover and restore myself to a healthy balance. I’m working on it, but it’s slooooow going, and after still feeling the black void sucking me in today, I’m thinking “Geez! How much longer?” I’ve been eating lighter to counteract my non-activity over the weekend. I’ve been trying to eat healthy. Fruits, veggies, vitamins, etc. I increased my meds, I added Lexapro back into the mix. Although it turned down the intensity of the void, and I could feel the blackness shaking, I’ve had a HELL of a time trying to release it completely! I’ve been fighting it all weekend, and quite frankly, I’m exhausted. The internal banter is relentless. It’s two epic, HUGE, LOUD opposing forces in my brain, each screaming at each other at the top of their lungs, hoping that one will scream louder than the other and get the other to just shut the fuck up. …Not that I’m actually hearing them, it’s the feeling of wanting to be well, happy, and healthy vs. this black vortex trying to suck me in.

I sometimes feel like I’m fighting a losing battle. My husband says this, but he’s not me. Not that his plight isn’t valid, but I’m the epicenter of all the chaos. Anditblows. It blows fainting pygmy goats. I’ve had this “losing battle” feeling all weekend, and today, perhaps it’s a little bit of sleep deprivation with a teeny bit of stress creeping back in, but I’m going “Really?! For real? STILL!?!!?!!! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD!!”

Before therapy today, I’d been trying to wrap my head around intellectually WHY I’m feeling this way. Because that’s what I do. I find comfort in looking for the reason “why”. Usually, if I find a concrete reason to go with, I feel better. So, I’ve been asking: Are my meds off? Well, I’m better medicated, and if I up the dosage any more, it will be akin to taking a blunderbuss to a grapefruit and ALL thought will be wiped off the face of Vixen’s brain… I ran yesterday to get the endorphines pumping and flowing to just feel good. I felt okay for awhile, but it was temporary. I’ve felt sort of wobbly, sick, and that “I’m going to vomit” feeling from just being nervous, anxious, and miserable.

I’ve been forced to cling onto the few things that I’ve earned and worked VERY, VERY HARD FOR over the past year in therapy. I’ve had to sit myself down and realize, at least intellectually, that I *AM* smart, funny, caring, loving, etc. …Even though there’s that tiny little critter in the back of my brain saying “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU KIDDING?! YOU’RE ABSOLUTELY USELESS! WHY GO ON?!” That little critter that’s been lying in wait, waiting for a moment of vulnerability to come out to play again and grab hold of my soul in icy blackness. I say “NO.” I’ve been saying “NO!” all weekend, but it’s been starting to border on just plain irritating. I’ve been wondering why I can’t shake this, I’ve been going into anxiety overload because of it. It sucks.

It’s been wearing on me. It’s intrusive. I came up with a theory that it could be something to do with the OCD. There are obsessions about unwanted or intrusive thoughts creeping in the ol’e noggin. I’ve certainly had my share of those. They should have dissipated with the up in meds, though, not just merely dampened.

I’ve been desperately trying to analyze WHY I’m doing this. Intellectually, I *know* shouldn’t be doing this. It’s the height of summer, the weather’s beautiful, I’m not doing anything in particular but working and (supposedly) “enjoying” life, WHY AM I FEELING THIS WAY, DAMMIT!? I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET BETTER! WHY AM I DOING THIS?!?!?!!!

I like to analyze and assess why I do things. I’ve really spent over a year doing this intensively, and I’ve worked very hard for the small semblance of sanity that I’ve found, even if it’s fleeting. It’s still oscillating, and it’s oscillating in my direction more and more. I want to hang on to that, so when my analysis of why I’m doing this vortex thing wasn’t going anywhere, I get effing frustrated.

My (brilliant) therapist pointed out today something very important. She gave me another piece of the puzzle by mentioning when I told her about ALL of this that: In essence, my emotions are also NOT me. Sometimes they will get unruly, but they do NOT define me as a person. Just as my mental illness does NOT define me.

…And that made all the difference. Being able to draw the line in the sand and differentiate between myself and these unruly emotions was the most enormously helpful thing ANYBODY could have helped me do today. And it helped me let go. My anxiety level dropped, I relaxed, and the skies parted and I was wrapped in a feeling of serene relaxation.

This thing had really been bugging me. So much so, in fact, that I was on a hair-trigger for *anything* today, and I really feel that I was going to be a walking Anxiety Attack. “Hi, I’m Anxiety. That annoying guy at the party that WON’T SHUT UP.” My heart was buzzing out of my chest with every phone call I received, every wayward glance, and it was starting to really stress me out. And I couldn’t get rid of the dark and evil because I was *too fixated* on getting rid of it (sounds a wee bit familiar… scratchy-scratch the head lice, anyone?).

But once my therapist pointed out that key differentiation between myself and my emotions, my whole body relaxed. I really thought I was GOING CRAZY FOR FINALLY AND FOREVER. And that I wouldn’t be able to fight this much longer, and that eventually, I’d have to be locked up in the padded room, in a straight jacket because I wouldn’t be able to function without injury. Yet, intellectually, I knew I had *something* to hang on to. I can’t let my poor brain and my talents go to waste! I SPENT A YEAR LOOKING FOR THEM! That is what kept me hanging on, by the barest, thinnest thread. I know that I’ve got intelligence, talent, and a lot on my side, instead of nothing. That’s why I couldn’t fall into the abyss. It was stressful. And tiring.

I’m *so* glad that she pointed that key bit for me today.

I’ve had a WONDERFUL day since then. It’s been relaxed, fun, and just general thought going on in the back of my brain since that conversation. I feel human. I feel like a real, live human being functioning on earth. I DON’T feel like I’m going to be sucked into this black, dark void that’s creeping in like fog. I feel pretty good. I feel stable. THIS is what I’ve been working on all week(end).

I’ll bet I sleep like a baby tonight.

All hell broke loose, and I spit in its face

Heather had a particularly wonderful post today. It was heartfelt, poignant, and brilliant. It couldn’t have come at a better time.

I’ve had a particularly rough week, starting last Saturday in my new solo Supervisory role.

Quick recap:

1 – Car broken into. Not worth anything, nothing stolen, still unnerving.
2 – 1st day as Supervisor: scheduled to work with MAJOR pain in the butt. Don’t know what I did to her in a past life. Maybe I stole her car? Did everything I possibly could to be nice, only to get no eye contact. No contact, period, actually.
Period *really* started. After four days of spotting. I was ten days late to begin with when spotting started. Suspected pregnancy. Took pregnancy test, came out faintly positive. Took one yesterday, as bleeding was ending, no longer positive.
3 – 2nd day: Pain in the butt coworker again.
4 – Monday: not normal “restart” b/c of working on weekend. Tired. Took 1.5 hours to count the drawer.
5 – Tuesday: Blur. Don’t remember much.
6 – Wednesday: Actually had a decent day at work, was happy about this. I “felt” a little off, though.

And then that brings us to yesterday night. Already, the load is intense. I’m trying to juggle the new responsibilities of Supervisor, learning new things (two things that I *LOVE* to do!), but I had to deal with a whole bunch of other bullshit at the exact same moment in time. Had I had one or two less things going on, I think I would have been okay.

Sometime, over the past two days, I missed my medication. And then I fell apart under the pressure and all hell broke loose. I love my husband dearly. I love him more than life itself. He has been here for me in the good times, the bad times, and the really ugly times. My problems are rough on him. Mental illness sucks for everybody involved, and I would not be surprised one day that if, like Jon Armstrong, my husband will end up in therapy for PTSD from having to deal with me.

I knew it was going to be a rough week, so I was doing everything in my power to prevent last night’s breakdown. I still managed to head off some of the worst of it, and recognize that I was cracking under the pressure, and that all things irrational flooding into my brain were a result of the stress and lack of medication, NOT a flaw in my character. . . Though my brain would have had you think that I’m seriously fucked up. Oops. Well, yeah, maybe, but it’s my crappy brain chemistry, NOT me. Now that I’ve been able to differentiate the two, it’s making these breakdowns a lot easier to deal with. The duration is shorter, though still intense, and the recovery is much quicker. It is still not without some huge, glaring problems, but I am making improvements. I know what the problem is, and I know what to do to correct the problem, and work on it better next time.

ALL of that being said, it still sucked. I completely, totally, and utterly lost it. I’d been trying to prevent it, and as soon as I started feeling it, I started yelling at myself: “No, no, nonononononono, nOOOOOO! DON’T DO THIS!!!” But then, being unmedicated, my brain went tumbling off of a cliff. In a matter of an hour, my brain went flying off into left field about:
“how useless, stupid, and insane I am, and why should I really exist because of this bullshit? I’m just a burden to myself, J, and society. I shouldn’t be allowed to breed anyway. They gave me the promotion because they were desperate, how could they do it because of any skill? I’m just an idiot.”

Yeah, that was fun. NOT.

I did my best to contain the explosion zone, and if I am going to find ANYTHING positive about this most recent freak-out, it’s that I succeeded, for the most part, in keeping this contained. I managed to keep it together so as not to physically lash out at my husband, or any objects around me. Yes, I lashed out, or in, physically, and I’m paying for it today. But, what I’m keeping in mind is that IT COULD HAVE BEEN MUCH, MUCH WORSE. My recovery has been a lot quicker this time than times past, mainly because I’ve got knowledge on my side for this one. I’ve done this so often and learned so much, that I know what to do to lessen the impact of it. My goal is to avoid these completely one day by STAYING medicated, REMEMBERING TO STAY MEDICATED, and generally taking good care of myself when I find that there’s a lot going on and I’m VERY stressed out. I *almost* made it this time. Almost, not quite, but almost. It’s two steps forward, one step back. It’s still progress.

I am ever-thankful and appreciative of a husband that has stuck by me, through thick and thin, for the past 8 years.
I declare my undying love and gratitude for his patience with me through the bad times. I love him, even those times when I want nothing more than to smash him in the nose, I love him so much it hurts. I would say that I can’t imagine the impact I have on him, or the toll that I’m taking, but I’ve got a feeling that I know. I’m trying to save a little love for myself. Some days, it’s easier than others, though.

It’s a lot of work trying to manage mental illness. It’s a lot of work trying to keep it all together. There are blocks in the way, but I always managed jump over them, or crawl around them. I’m still here. I’m still writing. I’m working through these deep-rooted behavior patterns and I am more determined now than ever to BEAT THE LIVING HELL OUT OF MY ISSUES! Figuratively, of course. I’ve done enough of the mental (and physical) boxing ring. These have been happening more frequently lately, but the difference is that I’ve been allowing them to happen by slowing my busy life down for a second. This means that although they are more frequent, they are less severe. I’m allowing myself to feel these things, instead of avoiding them like the plague until they are “RIGHT HERE, OH MY GOD, HERE ARE MY ISSUES AND I’M GOING TO DIE RIGHT NOW!!!” I’m not working three jobs anymore, just one. Just one so I can take the time to focus on getting better, and getting healthy. I want to live my life. I want to love my life. I want to feel the love in my life. It’s been awfully hard, but even though I’m having these bouts of mental breakdown, there are also bouts of happiness that are in between. Not just mere function, then breakdown. There *is* light, and it’s undulating with more regularity and it’s brighter.

It’s an event. Nothing more. I’m not giving up. I *WILL* win my war. There’s still work to do, but I’m getting there. Inch by inch. Bit by excruciating bit. I pick myself up again, brush myself off, and keep moving forward.

I like words, lots and lots of words!

It should come as no surprise by now that I like words, language, and vocabulary. I enjoy bending literary function to my will on my whim. It is something that I have done for a long time, and I have practiced carefully at. I have written in private journals since I was twelve years old, but my love for language and vocabulary started at a much earlier age. When I was a wee little young ‘un in 1st-6th grade, we would have writing assignments that I always loved. The journaling was fun, and I enjoyed feedback from my teachers. I wrote and published my first poem at 11 years old. It is in a literary anthology of young writers. I will have to track it down.

There’s something about seeing your name, in print, on a page out there that is very mystical, exciting, and empowering. This would make sense, coming from me, because I love to read. I have always loved reading, and I suppose that it makes logical sense that I love to write. I enjoy altering my writing in different styles to suit my mood. I am a very wordy, very visual individual. Words are where I excel. Math, I can do. I’m competent at it, but I’m much better with formulas (that have, you know, letters to follow?) than a long string of numbers to keep track of and follow.

My plan, that I am putting out on the internet right now, is to actually write a book. I’ve been thinking about this for a very long time, and it was almost something that didn’t get done because I totally lost confidence in myself and my abilities. But, after a very long while in therapy, and a long and steady break from the rat race, I’ve figured out that this is something that I would really like to do, and I need to do it. I don’t need to publish 100 books. I’ll start with one, then maybe I’ll branch out from there.

More after the jump

What lies beneath?

In this harrowing and hellish journey toward self-discovery, I have discovered something that is startling, disconcerting, and just sort of bothers me overall. During my multi-year stint of racing pell-mell to stay on top of things, I have forgotten one very important thing in the whole process. And I have just realized what it was.

…Fun

What the heck is it, and how do I do it? I remember good times, happy times even, but just sitting down and focusing on “Having Fun” has been something that has not been included in my personal encyclopedia for so long that I’ve simply forgotten what the heck it is. I don’t know what it is, and I don’t really know what it’s like.

That saddens me to a degree. That’s part of the equation of mental wellness, and I’ve been missing that chunk for a long, long time. And, despite ALL of my hard work over the past year and ALL of the self-discoveries that I’ve made, I’m still missing something. And that something is key to my happiness and stability. I’ve done fun things, sure, but I don’t really know what it’s all about anymore: fun on a regular basis. I have discovered three activities that I enjoy: Reading, Writing, and Drawing. So I suppose that those are all fun for me. But, I can only do these between work, husband, and mood swings, which can be rough.