For Halloween I want to get dressed in my normal clothes and do my hair and makeup and go as a “regular person”
For Halloween I want to get dressed in my normal clothes and do my hair and makeup and go as a “regular person”
Today I closed a chapter of my life. Again. I think I’m on attempt 5 or 6 by this point.
My shoes, and to a lesser extent, my purses, defined my professional life. I wore plain clothes but my shoes were peep toe 4″ aqua colored with white polkadots. Or white and red candy stripe, again 4″ peeptoe. Deep purple closed toe, grey, tan and on and on and on. All all with a 3-4″ heel.
I will never wear those shoes again. Too much time has passed and my mental issues have not gotten better. If anything, they’ve gotten worse. I’ve been off 4″ heels for years and it would take practice to start over. Plus, let’s face it, I don’t need a flashy pair of pumps to go empty the dishwasher.
I will never wear those shoes again. I’m just a smidge over the line of being considered petite (in height, in height) so every pair of pants I buy is too long. No big deal when you’re running around the office in 4″ heels. Now everything must be hemmed. And since I don’t know how to hem pants, I just so my best not to step on them.
I went on the great shoe purge because we are just out of space. And I have finally come to (uneasy) terms with getting rid of them because I will never be wearing them again. I have two full bags of my beautiful beautiful shoes in the back of my car for the Goodwill. Along with a bag of coats that no longer fit and a heavy duty comforter. Now I just have to drum up the mental fortitude to actually stop at Goodwill and take these things out of my car.
But, when I finally release these shoes to Goodwill, I will be saying goodbye to yet another piece of my professional life. Logically, I know that a return to work is never going to happen.
Emotionally, I still haven’t let it go.
I’m feeling all out of sorts. I dropped my Lamictal from 200 to 150 but that was just last night, so there hasn’t been enough time for that to make a difference.
I had a bad dream last night. I dreamt that I was being the biggest asshole on the planet during a friend’s wedding, because she didn’t make me Maid of Honor. ???? Seriously? Good times
On the plus side, MIL went to visit her sister yesterday for a week. So, when hubby leaves for work on 2nd shift, I get complete unobstructed “me time”. Which I love and cherish and look for ways to get on a daily basis. Now I have it. Without having to hide in my room. Nice
My thoughts are really messed up. I haven’t been commenting on blogs for the last day or so, because I can’t structure any kind of useful comment other than “bummer”, which is beyond useless. I do wish that WP would give us a button, similar to the like button, that was for understanding. I get what you are saying and I don’t “like” it, because it sucks, but I will click “understand” because, while I have nothing useful to say and I don’t “like” what you are going through, I “understand. But, for now, we have what we have. So, I’m clicking “like” and hope that you understand that it means “I get it and have nothing useful to say”. I will take it the same way.
So, that’s about all I’ve got.
Wishing you all a good day
I lost 2 pounds!
I actually busted through the Seroquel bullshit and lost 2 pounds. I’m very proud of this and now I can remain on the Seroquel XR which, for me, is working.
Losing the 2 pounds made a big difference in my thinking. I know that they exercise was what put me over the top, so I’m more committed to my walking and hope to start yoga this week.
I had my pdoc appointment this morning. I told her about my success. She was pleased. I know she wasn’t looking forward to trying to replace yet another med.
However, I threw her a curveball. Just when she probably figured she’d get through an appointment easily with me, I tossed in the terrible, and only getting worse, memory loss. And told her I want off the Lamictal.
So, I am cutting down the Lamictal tonight from 200 mg to 150 mg. Then next Tuesday I cut that again to 100 mg for 2 weeks. Then I go back to see her. That will give me a chance to see what changes happen and if my memory starts to get better. I’m nervous. I really am. But, things can not remain the way they are.
My nerves are beyond bad today. I believe this is day 3 of Shitty Nerve Syndrome. I guess when your baseline is slightly anxious, there just isn’t far to go to hit SNS. But pdoc put me back on Klonopin in lieu of the Valium which wasn’t working. I did well on Klonopin before, but I think my body got used to it and it stopped working. We’re hoping that it’s been long enough that I will respond to it again.
Besides having my weight loss to be happy about, I came home from therapy to find the house clean. MIL emptied and reloaded the dishwaser. Hubby moved some stuff I wanted moved and vacuumed. MIL dusted. I’m so glad. This stuff needed to be done badly and I just couldn’t get myself to do it. Now I get a day or two of no worries since it’s all pretty clean. YAY!
I know there was something else I wanted to talk about, but I forget what it was.
If I remember I’ll write it later.
Day 2 of horrible anxiety.
The amount of effort being put into not being a bitch is huge. Now I’m anxious and exhausted, which is always an interesting place to be. If interesting means sucky.
No walk for me today. My dog, Earl, goes with me and started limping last night. Sometimes when the weather starts to get cooler his joints bother him. So, I’ve got to go get him some gluclosamine. But, I can’t go out for a walk without him, unless other people are awake. He goes completely batshit if I try to leave without him. Probably no walk tomorrow either as it’s supposed to rain.
Tomorrow is pdoc appointment and therapy. I’m going to get off the Seroquel tomorrow. I can’t wait to keep going on my weight loss and exercise plan and actually lose weight. That’ll be fun.
I feel like someone let thousands of butterflies loose in my stomach. I really despise feeling like this. I even took a valium, but no relief. If I take another one, I could end up falling asleep and then that’ll fuck up my sleep tonight and blah blah blah blah. Another day and another pile of bullshit to wade through. I just wish it was actual problems causing my anxiety. I could deal with that. Get an action plan. Do something proactive. Anxiety for anxiety’s sake is just a fucked up way to get through the day. Same for depression for the sake of depression.
I feel like I write the same couple of posts over and over again. There’s the “I’m really anxious” post, the “I’m really depressed” post and the “Goddamn I am so fat” post. Oh yeah and the “SSA can kiss my ass” post.
I think I will be retreating to the bedroom for some mindless TV and another valium.
I woke up this morning aggravated and pissy. The cats were flying around the house like a pack of crazed monkeys. I couldn’t even use the bathroom alone.
I think that was the tipping point. Today could have been better if the morning had been a little more peaceful. But it wasn’t. And now my temper is off and running. Someone speaking to me gives me the same feeling as fingernails on chalkboards. Hubby seems to be immune so far. Hopefully that sticks.
We have a great NASCAR race today. Talladega always promises a crazy afternoon. Hopefully that helps soothe my nerves a little bit.
I didn’t feel like going for my walk this morning, but I did it. I thought if I got up and went then maybe I would walk away some of this tension and anger. It didn’t work. It didn’t work even while I was doing it. Usually I can get some peace during a walk at the very least, but not today. So, no sunshine spewers telling me that exercise will cure all my many mental defects, because…so far….not so much.
And the lady on the Latuda commercial? She can kiss my ass.
This is going to be a day of just gritting my teeth and trying to bear it without taking someone’s head off.
The other day I discovered a mistake that I had made. It was a bit of miscommunication that put me in a position of begging for an exception to the rules so that I could do what I was supposed to be doing. This was a mistake, that if not rectified, would cost us money. Money we don’t have.
Everything worked out. I got my exception and my task was completed successfully. But my anxiety was through the roof. And I couldn’t bring it down. Because I was worried about what MIL and hubby were thinking.
I live for making other people’s lives easier. I have spent most of my life trying to make sure that other people were comfortable. And that they liked me.
I am constantly worried about what other people think of me. Not so much here on WP, because we all live on the same sinking ship, but I worry about hubby, MIL, my family, my friends. (well, friend) They all (except hubby) minimize my anxiety and depression with stories of how everyone gets depressed sometimes. Everyone gets anxious sometimes. But, I live in anxiety. 24/7. It’s my baseline. And it takes very little to shoot it up to the point that I can no longer deal. I wake up pissed at least a couple times a week. But I don’t want anyone to know because I don’t want to see the disappointment and the confusion. So I pretend. I spend my precious bits of energy trying to make everyone around me comfortable.
This was diagnosed as co-dependency after my first nervous breakdown. Severe co-dependency. This is something that is often found in the homes of alcoholics. There is often someone in the home that tries to make sure that everything is perfect to avoid an outburst from the addict.
I don’t live with addiction. But, my youth was a study in not angering my mother. It was so damn easy to set her off. I learned to try to make sure that everyone was happy.
But, I also rebelled. And I lied my ass off about it. I made up girl friends because my mother didn’t want me hanging out with too many boys. I wasn’t promiscuous. My mother just thought it was wrong that so many of my friends were boys. So I made up people. Easier. Kept her happy which kept her from going batshit.
My punishments when I was younger were always severe. Missing curfew could get me grounded for a month. And God forbid I talked back. Or tried to explain myself. Now, I’m grounded for 2 months. I was grounded my entire senior year of high school. I don’t know why.
I was never physically abused, but emotionally was another story. I have grown into an adult that is perpetually afraid of “being in trouble”. I don’t know what I think is going to happen to me but since I don’t want to find out, I spend my time trying to appease everyone. And I’m always afraid someone will think I’m stupid or mean or lazy.
I hear about people with terrible physical illnesses who “push through the pain” and do incredible things. I hear about people with mental illness who push through and do amazing things. So I beat myself up for not being able to do the same. I spend time every single week, thinking that if I just try hard enough, I could go back to work. But, I can’t. I can’t even make a semi-difficult phone call without needing to take a valium. How am I supposed to deal with traffic and mean people? Some days I can’t make myself get up and shower. How am I supposed to get to work on time?
All of my doctors insist that I can’t work. But I feel like a disappointment. I bring no money to the house. I applied for disability, but that process is so long that I feel certain it will never end. I feel like I am disappointing my hubby. This is not the woman he married. He married a worker, a doer. Hell, I made more money than he did.
Now I make no money. I rarely leave the house. If he is angry, I automatically assume that it is because of something I did. It rarely is, but it is always my first thought.
The meds have destroyed my sex drive. My appreciation of sex used to be….robust. Now, I seriously couldn’t give a shit. Thanks for that side effect pharma.
I feel like I am rambling. I probably am. If you’re still reading, then thank you. If you aren’t than I’m sorry, not that you are here to see it. I’m forever telling others not to be sorry that they are rambling because their blog is their space. Now I’m doing it, too. But I can’t seem to afford myself the same leniency.
I don’t know.
Fuck it. I’m just gonna hit “publish” and try not to stress about it.
I’ve been distracted the last couple days.
Yesterday was my grandfather’s 96th birthday. It’s the first of his birthdays to come and go since he passed away in January.
My grandfather was an amazing man. He was a Methodist minister and served at many churches, but had landed in his 23 year long post before I was born.
He served as minister for my parent’s wedding. He married my brother and SIL and he married hubby and me.
We used to spend weekends with Mommom and Poppop at the parsonage of the church. The church and parsonage were located on the edge of the cemetery and we used to play there. I am told that when I was little I called the cemetery “Alphabet Park” because that was where all the letters lived. At the top of the slight hill of the cemetery was a small area of benches where small summer evening services were sometimes held. This area was also the highest elevation of the county and we used to sit up there and watch the lights of the nearby bridge.
We picked apples from the apple tree at the parsonage and made apple sauce with my grandmother. We picked cherries from the cherry tree and grapes from the arbor. We played with the old water pump that used to be used to fill buckets of water to be carried to the house, but had long since been disconnected and was fun to use in our pretend games.
Poppop spent a good portion of his Saturdays in his study meditating on his sermon for Sunday. We knew to be quiet and my brother and I would often tell each other “shhh Poppop is memotating”
My grandmother was a continual provider of inexpensive wonderful things to do. We helped her in the kitchen grinding beef for hamburgers, playing with dough made of flour and water and food coloring, and singing Barry Manilow into the tape recorder they had to be listened and laughed at years later.
The area became a peaceful place for me to go. Hubby and I have a fight? Up to the benches in the cemetery I would go. Stressed? Up to the cemetery. Sad? Up to the cemetery.
But we’ve moved away and three of my grandparents are buried there. It’s not so much of a peaceful place for me anymore. When I go to the graves I still become upset when I leave because I feel this sense that I am leaving and abandoning them. I know it’s not true, but I can’t help the thoughts.
Mommom isn’t doing well. She’s 96 also and will be 97 in February. She was married to Poppop for 73 years. She has lost her will. She is nearly blind and her hearing has been bad for years. She sits in her chair every day, all day. She only leaves it to go eat or when my father forces her to the doctor and for church. She is depressed, for good reason, and is just fading away. I expect that she will die of a broken heart. Her decline is obvious every time I get up there to visit. For her sake, I almost hope that she will join Poppop soon, as her desire to live seems to have left her when he died.
I’m 46. I still have one grandparent alive. I’m beyond fortunate to have had them for most of my life. I’ve had my grandparents longer than hubby had his father. I’m trying to come to grips with the fact that she won’t be here for long. I’m trying to be ok with the realization that she seems to want to die.
I want to hold onto her. I want her to stay. I want her to be happy.
But she’s not.
And that makes me terribly sad.
But I also want her not to suffer.
But, I think she is.
And that makes me terribly sad.
Poppop suffered when he passed.
I pray for better for Mommom.
So, today I joined Weight Watchers.
I’ve gained 2 1/2 pounds since I checked in with my weight last Thursday.
That is seriously unacceptable. I know it’s got a lot to do with the Seroquel. I’ve been making a big effort to eat well. I can’t stop the nighttime bingeing, but I have steered it to better choices.
I’ve been walking. Not at much as I should, but hell, anything was more than what I was doing.
It looks like I will be making pdoc get rid of the Seroquel XR when I see her next week. Being this size is working against the meds, because it is depressing and anxiety inducing.
I’m nervous about discontinuing the Seroquel. I’m nervous that we won’t find a decent replacement. But, it seems that if a med has a side effect of gaining weight I get it in the worst way possible.
So, here I go, into the world of regulated diets. Weight Watchers has worked for me before, and hopefully it will work for me again.
Next week is my appointment with pdoc. I just saw her two weeks ago, but I wanted to come back quickly so we could see if I would be able to lose weight while I’m on Seroquel XR.
I’m not losing weight. I’m walking. I’m eating healthier. But I’m not losing anything but my patience.
Now I’m considering ditching the Lamictal as well. My memory is awful. Desperately awful. Anxiety inducing, furious Leslie making awful.
Simply put, my memory sucks.
And, as far as I can remember (ridiculous, I know) it wasn’t like this before I was diagnosed and medicated. I know that I used to work at a high stress job and memory was critical. And I excelled. But I don’t really have a handle on how my memory was before my nervous breakdown (yeah yeah major depressive episode..whatevs). I started Lamictal just before my mental health hospital stint and have continued it since.
I ranted on this theme at therapy this morning. Is it the illness? Is it the meds? Will it get better? Are the memories gone or just not accessible? What happens if I stop the Lamictal? Will I be able to regulate my moods on something else? Is my quality of living impaired enough that I’m willing to hop back on the med-go-round? (yes, I think)
And I’m not just looking at the Lamictal. I’m also looking at the Seroquel XR. It’s scary to think that I need to ditch two of my meds.
But, it’s also scary to realize that I have forgotten so many things. Memories of doing things with hubby that are gone. I no longer have access to them. Some of the things I don’t remember are scary. Like driving somewhere and suddenly realizing that I’m lost. I don’t know where I am and I don’t know how I got lost. And then I realize that I’m not lost. I’m on the road I drive several times a week, every week, and I forgot what it looked like. Or stopping mid-sentence because the word I want is missing from my vocabulary suddenly and I can’t even come up with something similar enough to use. And once I find the word, I forgot what I was talking about. I forget what the sentence I’m in the middle of saying was about. I find that to be some seriously disturbing.
And it’s making me angry. And frustrated.
The medications I’m considering changing are actually working on my moods fairly well. I’m always anxious, but I think that’s just the way it’s gonna be from now on, and I can live with that. But, I’m at the point where I’m really concerned that the side effect cost is becoming too high. It’s great that I don’t go into a deep depression or a manic phase, or, God forbid a mixed episode. I’m thrilled about that. But the anger and frustration that I’m experiencing as a result of the side effects are starting to become a problem. I have to consider that the anger and frustration could eventually become so bad that they negate the effectiveness of the meds anyway. And then I would really be screwed.
I don’t know what I’m going to do. I have a week and two more therapy appointments to decide.
Navigating the world while at war with my brain.
Fighting the current of life.
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