So, you know, therapy.
We talked about my basically dropping the mic, saying ‘I’m out bitches’ and walking out of the kitchen and all that occurs in it.
I told Karen that one of the things that is really bothering me these days is that I feel like I am constantly in mourning for parts of my personality.
I mostly miss the part of me that was able to work like a crazy person, gathering respect from so many that I came into contact with, and still going out and being social on the weekend.
Of course, I was completely manic then, I just didn’t know it. I did have a good time though.
Then there was the part of me that had my nice little sweet job here in our new state. A nice little Mom and Pop shop that I really enjoyed.
The fact that I can’t hold down a big time professional job OR a smaller less stressful job are actually two separate issues for me. And two separate parts of my personality to mourn.
So, Karen and I talked about talking to hubby about how I feel about the kitchen. The kitchen is my workspace. My cubicle. My office.
In case you haven’t noticed, much of how I define myself is work related. Even without a paying job, I still define myself by the work I do in the home.
So I came home and I gave it a shot. I put it the way Karen and I decided, comparing it to his mechanic’s bay when he was still an auto mechanic. Basically, this is your space but someone keeps dumping crap in it without regard for you or your feelings and over your objections. Doesn’t that sound like something that would bother you?
But what does that have to do with the kitchen?
Oh fuck thank God he’s cute.
So, he doesn’t get it. And, since I’ve been nearly silent on the matter to him this whole time, he really doesn’t have any frame of reference for how long this has been bothering me.
And that’s my bad.
He still doesn’t know what it is that I want him to do.
And I’m not in this to hurt MIL’s feelings.
Plus, it turns out he’s upset with me, because I’m always saying that I look forward to him having weekends off so we can hang out and then he had this one and I slept the whole time.
So now, I’m apologizing for being an asshole (guilty) and I’m backpedaling on the thing that I’m upset about, because he just doesn’t get it, and he’s annoyed at me and it’s for good reason.
There is another issue between hubby and me, which is a distinct lack of sex. I have a condition called intersticial cystitis which makes sex painful. Add to that pain from menopause, and I’m a barrel of laughs.
So, I’m looking at that, and I’m looking at what I see as me being useless in the house, and I’m seriously wondering what my role here even is.
What is the point of me?
Karen feels that I could be headed for another hospitalization if I don’t find a way to make myself understood. She feels that I have left myself unexpressed for so long that the conversation will happen either before hospitalization is necessary or during my hospitalization.
I do not want to be in the hospital.
I do not want to be in the hospital.
I do not know how to make myself understood.
My issues are small and petty. But they have piled so high that if they were made of gold, Smaug would have taken up residence.
Maybe I have to take a different approach. Tomorrow, I should get the boot cast off my foot. That should clear me for exercise. A walk in the morning to get going.
I could figure out ways to just “go out for a walk” anytime I get feeling pissy.
But, maybe, if I’m exercising, I won’t feel like I need such control.
And don’t think that I don’t see how I make myself the “bad guy” in all this. I see it. I haven’t fixed myself that far yet.
I have learned in my life how to take the blame. It’s how you make things easier for other people. If you blame yourself, then they don’t have to look at what they may have done wrong. It’s the quickest route out of a problem. The fact that it causes other problems is completely irrelevant.
It seems like the more work I do on myself, the more that there is left to do.
One more note before I go.
I read this morning a post by Bipolar First Bipolar Together about a suicide that was apparently blamed on the blog by Therese Borchard. From what I understand, someone took something that she shared that was personal and used it as justification for suicide. Or the victim’s family did.
Every day, we come here and share the depths of ourselves in this space. Every day I tell all of you more then I tell anyone else, except my therapist. Every day I’m sure I say something that someone could use as justification to end their life.
Now, since it hasn’t happened that way with something I have written, it’s easy for me to sit here at my keyboard and say that I would continue on, sharing my experiences and try to push through without changing. The truth is that it would change me. But, if we let it change the sharing of our personal stories, we will never get anything done. It will be harder for us to get better because we won’t have that easy proof that we are not alone. And we will not take away the stigma of our disease because we won’t be willing to talk about it.
That’s what I should have posted on Ms. Borchard’s site.
Anxious and depressed….wired and tired.
I hate feeling like this. I was just depressed. I forced myself to get a few things done that desperately needed to be done. I took one of the frozen meals that I had the forethought to pack up a few weeks ago, because I just don’t see me cooking dinner today.
But after I got those few chores done, the butterflies in my stomach are awake and trying to bust out and run amuck. I’m so tired. And now I’m edgy. I took a klonopin, so in a half hour I’ll be ready for bed.
That was yesterday.
I ended up going and laying down around 3:00 pm and slept until 5:30am this morning. I’m exhausted. I know that if I went and laid down right now I would go to sleep. For hours. Hell, the only reason I got up this morning is because I had to pee. The only reason I stayed up was to feed the cats and go to therapy.
I think that it is the giving in on the kitchen space. I keep going to straighten up the food in the fridge or on the cabinet and stop myself. Not gonna let this be my problem. But, then, what is my purpose? What’s the point?
I didn’t know how worthless giving up that control was going to make me feel. I really didn’t. I thought it would be freeing. I knew it would be hard, but I did think, that in the long run, I would feel better because I wouldn’t be spending all my time “fixing” things.
The thing is, and this is what Karen will tell me, is that handling the cooking and shopping and all that is my job. I don’t work outside of the home. I work inside of the home and this is a really big part of it.
And, now, I don’t have that either.
I made a salad this morning for me to eat later. It was nearly impossible to find the things I had purchased for this salad because it was all hidden behind 2 (?) rotisserie chicken from the grocery store, cannoli filling, cannolis and various other piles of crap. I wonder how long she’s going to keep those chickens.
I still get to do the laundry though! woohoo.
I still get to try and keep the dinky little room we jokingly call our bedroom as clean as possible. It’s not very possible. It’s literally only a tiny bit bigger then the bed that is in there. It’s near impossible to move around, let alone organize. It’s an overwhelming task, and truthfully, I don’t even know where to start.
Giving up my tasks in the kitchen is so hard. It’s exhausting to try to not care. I don’t know if I’m sleeping so much to escape or because it’s so exhausting.
I don’t know.
If you’ve been following along, you know that I’m having sort of a death match with my MIL in the kitchen. She buys too much junk, clutters up the area we have reserved for that (much to my OCD’s chagrin) and all around doesn’t listen and does her own thing. It’s been well established that this is my area. It’s also been documented that she, on occasion has done things that she knows will trigger my OCD, just to see if I will fix it.
She’s also one of those people, who, when you tell them you have OCD come back to you with “Oh yeah me too! I just have to keep x or y or z clean or it drives me nuts”. No. Shut it. You do not have OCD, you are anal-retentive. There is a difference.
I said something to my husband yesterday and he said he didn’t see what the big deal is. Who cares if she wants to go spend her money on junk. Let her have her little bit of happiness. Which is, by the way, a coping skill that she is using on her depression.
So, I quit. I will probably maintain control of the dishwasher and how the dishes are put away, but for the rest of it, I’m going to try to quit. Cold turkey. I’m going to not care.
There are two things that must be done for me to pretend I don’t care. First, my items must be in order. Which, right now, means taking my purse off the table. Second, Karen (my therapist) is going to have to kick it up a notch regarding dealing with MIL and my obsessive nature regarding the kitchen and the pantry area.
This is something that I’m hoping will find it’s way to making me happy. I exert mountains of energy to try to deal with this on a daily basis. The question is, how much energy will I exert on not caring. I suspect a lot. But, will it be more or less than the amount I am currently putting into the issue? I don’t know.
Wednesday, I go back to the podiatrist, and I suspect that I will have my boot cast taken off for good. Which means exercising for the first time all summer. Which I am very much looking forward to. It will get me out of the house, I’ll take nice walks with the dog each morning.
The eating healthy part of that is going to be hampered by MIL’s attempt to make and buy as much crap as she possibly can. Saturday, she made cannoli dip. Then she buys these crackers to use to scoop it up. But she makes a shit ton of this stuff. Yesterday, hubby said that it would be cool to use it to fill actual cannoli shells. I now have 7 chocolate covered cannoli shells filled with cannoli filling in my fridge. Plus, a big ass container still full of the filling/dip.
This will not be easy. I’m going to spend a small amount of blog space to my journey. I think that there are so many of us dealing with the gaining weight side effects that it could be interesting to document some of this here. I don’t know. But keep an eye out for the picture of the gargantuan me (thank you sooooo much Seroquel) so that there is a “before” picture for posterities sake.
I expect that you will be able to tune in later today for the shrieking mess that I will become by trying to ignore part of my OCD.
Till then my friends….
Should be entertaining.
If you have noticed that I haven’t been around for a couple days, it’s because I’ve been asleep. I shit you not. I have been asleep since Friday night, waking only a couple times on Saturday to pee, once to eat and then right back to sleep. I got up this morning and hubby just looked at me and asked “How did you sleep?” Smartass
I am definitely down. There is no reason for me to have slept 36 hours except depression. And I feel it. That and anger.
Everything feels hard. It’s easier to sleep. My MIL will feed my hubby. In fact, she’ll take care of damn near everything but the sex. I’m superfluous. (oooh big word!)
Logically I know that paragraph is bullshit. I KNOW it. But there is enough truth to it that it’s hard to ignore.
This morning we had to go clothes shopping. And I’m finding that being fat means you can’t be comfortable and you can’t have dignity. I saw some of the most God awful shirts I ever saw and really…leggings in a 3X? I don’t think so. I’m ready for a muumuu.
I don’t even have enough in me to complain for long. If it were up to me I would go back to bed.
I feel pretty good today. MIL is triggering me mildly, but what else is new. I forgot to take my ambien last night and wondered all the way till 5:00 am why I wasn’t sleeping. Won’t make that mistake again soon. 😦 But at least I knew what the problem was. I know that the medicine will make me sleep. It’s no longer a crap shoot. I have finally found the right sleeping pill.
So much of what we go through is a guessing game. New meds come on the market all the time. They might work, they might not work. They will cost an arm and a leg while you try them on for size and you can only hope that your doc has samples or coupons or something else to help afford these new meds.
Now, if you are bipolar, you will need a mood stabilizer, an antidepressant and potentially a sleeping pill. Minimum. I take an antidepressant, a bipolar depression medication, a mood stabilizer, an anti-anxiety “rescue” medication, and a sleeping pill. Those are just the meds I take for my mental issues. I also have an autoimmune disease that adds three meds to the mix.
I have spent the entire year trying to find the right mood stabilizer for me. I tried, and failed, three different medications. The year has been an experiment in failure for me. My doc finally talked to me about going back to Seroquel XR. I was on it before and it worked. Two problems, which I consider major problems. One…there is no generic for Seroquel XR (there is for regular seroquel, just not the extended release) so it’s wicked expensive. So far, my doc has kept me going with samples, but that won’t last forever. Second, and honestly I’m not sure which is more upsetting, but this medication makes me gain weight. A lot of weight. If I don’t go to sleep fairly soon after taking it, I will eat every single piece of food in my house, as long as it’s not healthy. Ice cream, candy, cookies, crackers, almost nothing is off limits. I have gained 15 pounds in the last 3 weeks. Now that the sleeping pill situation is resolved that weight gain will hopefully slow if not reverse. It took 5 tries to find a sleeping pill that would not only put me down, but more importantly, keep me down.
As soon as my boot cast is off my left foot (plantar fascia release surgery) an exercise regimen will begin. ‘Cause damn, I’m fat!
Bipolar disorder is also stopping me from helping my loved ones. I have a couple members of my family who are very sick. It seems that almost all the cousins on my mother’s side have terrible diabetes and two of them, plus their father are needing kidney transplants. I talked to my doctor about it the other day and she said that she would never clear me for donating organs. I’m too messed up, too stressed, too depressed and all while being medicated better then I have been in awhile. Besides the stress of donating, there would be the stress after of missing an organ. Because one of my issues, is concern about my physical well-being. And if I’m short a kidney, that is only going to make that issue worse.
Bipolar disorder causes us to be unsure, almost all the time. What mood will I wake up to tomorrow? What mood will I switch to when my husband gets home? Will I pull out of this funk long enough to shower? Will this burst of energy that defies all medications to stomp it out ever end or will I just run around like a wild person until I die from lack of sleep? Even well medicated, any of this could happen.
Some people are able to be medicated well enough that they can work and socialize and live a rather normal life. The rest of us wrestle with an inability to work or live a normal life. Beyond that, we must come to grips with the fact that social stigma puts us down for not working. Since our disability can’t be seen, we must be faking it. Milking it for the free money. Living off the system. If only the accusers knew how little money comes with disability.
None of this is really new information to those of you who visit regularly. I just felt like this was what I wanted to talk about today.
At 7:00 I took my Seroquel XR 300mg and my 3rd Neurontin 300mg. The Seroquel will slowly start to slow me down and the Neurontin will work on the depression and the restless leg syndrome, so that once I lay myself down, my legs should stay relaxed.
I have the end of Law & Order: Criminal Intent on the tube. Adult Swim on Cartoon Network starts in a few minutes and with it, Kind of the Hill and Bob’s Burgers. I won’t make the second episode of Bob’s Burgers. The ambien I have been given is working.
8:00 will bring the ambien, another Neurontin, 300mg of Lamictal, 60 mg of Prozac, 10 mg of Elavil and 1 mg of Klonopin.
I’m going to try to throw a clear coat of nail polish on my nails before sleep takes me. Keeping my nails up seems to be all I’m capable with these days as far as my appearance goes. But I’ll take what I can get.
Tomorrow, at the ass crack of dawn, little Leila kitty, will start chewing my bracelets, letting me know that it’s time to get up and feed her, and her adopted brothers and administer her insulin shot.
And the day will start anew. Will it be a day of sorrow and anger and hate? Or will it be a peaceful day. At least, as peaceful as they get these days.
Only time will tell.
Good night dear Friends. Sleep well.
It’s interesting that I find it so difficult to write when I’m having a good day. Bad day? I’m scribbling away as fast as I can to get it all out. All the venom and anger and sadness. But, when the mood is good, there just isn’t that much to say.
I think the Seroquel is working. We just added in Ambien (where the hell were our brains that we hadn’t tried freaking Ambien???) for sleep which is working very well. I’m going to have to start taking the meds for my intersticial cystitis again because that is acting up again.
But, basically, my mood has been pretty good.
Yesterday, I went to the grand opening of a new grocery store, Earth Fare, in our area. They were offering amazing specials and some gift card giveaways, and the bargain hunter in me could not resist. However, the claustrophobic part of me, would not allow me to think long enough to purchase anything, or even do some meaningful price comparisons, as every single person in my town was there. All at the same time. Or at least that’s how it felt. So, I left, giving my empty shopping cart back to the lady in charge of carts for the day (embarrassed that it was empty) and ran to my car as fast as my boot cast would let me. Even my MIL, who had been dying to go there, wouldn’t go after I told her about the crowds. I’ll try again once the novelty has worn off.
It’s rainy here today, which for me is the perfect do nothing day. When I worked, I was always more liable to burn a sick day on a rainy day, then a sunny one. I love to lay in bed and listen to the rain. It’s so soothing. Unless it’s a downpour, then I worry about the sump pump under the house. But, today is that nice steady, but not hard, rainfall day that I love.
I’m grateful for the day of feeling good. There are several long term projects that I really want to work on, and maybe today is a good time to think about them. Disability in the country is absolutely absurd, and I feel compelled to try to do something about it. I’m not sure what I can do that will make a difference, but I definitely need to do some research and maybe I can work on that today. I know at some point, it’s going to require a petition of some sort and some anecdotal evidence, but I have no real idea of where to start. I need to research and I need to make notes. All of which is impossible during a good day. Plus, I don’t want to do this before my own disability comes through. I don’t want to fuck up my chances of getting my disability.
But, maybe today I just enjoy feeling decent. Get a couple of chores done. Like laundry and cleaning up the kitchen. That wouldn’t be a bad thing! lol
So, recently I have been posting a lot about the evil MIL and how she triggers me at every turn.
And she does. It’s almost like she’s trying sometimes.
But, the thing is, she’s not a terrible person.
Her husband, my FIL passed away 5 years ago. Her daughter, who was my friend before she introduced me to her brother, who became my husband, stole her identity and racked up about $6,000 in debt. At this time SIL was living in a house I owned and was using the stolen money to pay me rent. I ended up losing the house in foreclosure (a very long dirty nasty tale for another time). ANYway, it comes time for MIL to retire from a very good job mind you, but she realizes, and hubby and I realize, that there is no way she can continue to live on her own in the house that she and FIL lived in because her credit is shot to shit because of her daughter and she never learned to curb her spending after FIL died.
So, the only real solution was for her to sell her house and move 5 states away from her friends to move in with us. We would house her rent and utility free and she could use her small pension and pittance SSI to do things she wants to do. Of course, her house had not been updated since the late 70’s/early 80’s (think dark paneling and popcorn ceilings). So, in a competitive market, she wasn’t going to get much. I was able to use my experience from what had been my very lucrative career before I lost my marbles to help her save as much money as possible on the sale, but she still ended up with way less then she had hoped.
So, we packed her up, moved her South and have watched the depression kind of settle in.
I often complain about MIL as she tends to aggravate me on an ongoing basis. But she is also very kind. She has been driving me around on and off for the last couple months as I’ve gone through 2 foot surgeries. She has been doing all of my household chores, including cooking and packing dinner for hubby every day, while I have been laid up. I complain about her buying a lot of junk food (which does irritate the living crap out of me) but she also buys meat and kitty litter and cat food and multiple other things that we do need desperately. Granted she is shopping because it makes her depression feel better, but I can only deal with one crazy person at a time, and I’m closer to me then she is, so I win.
My point is that, while I complain about her because she triggers me a lot, there are a lot or really wonderful things about MIL and I love her very much.
This space is for us to vent and learn and deal with the things that affect us so much on a daily basis. But I thought it might be nice to write a bit about the good things about those people that we complain about. Yes, they trigger us and make us crazier, but we keep them around for a reason. I thought it might be nice to write a bit about why we do that.
Link it up, share it around…and obviously…totally voluntary