Tuesday, May 31, 2011

I want....

to be able to write. But I can't. I'm feeling particularly vulnerable right now.

I want to write. I want to write because writing seems to help calm the whirlwind that goes on in my brain.  I want to write because it seems to be somewhat theraputic, in a non-judgemental way.  I want to write but am feeling very vulnerable and end up worrying.  Which in turn has me edit, delete, re-wright, edit, delete....rinse and repeat a hundred times over.  I'm finding myself more and more stressed as I think about writing. I want to be honest.  Yet, being honest in my writing means I need to be honest with myself.  Being honest w/myself is scary.  Writing in pure honesty leads me open to the flood gates of hell come crashing down.  Way down. 

I want to write for me. Not for you. As far as I know there is no you.  There is a ton of you that I could share this with.  But then, I'm opening myself up.  The facade (sp) that I so often put on in my every day life. Gone. down the drain. unsafe. no trust.  I want to write about that. I want to be honest with myself.  Being honest w/myself is scary. As I've said over.and.over.and.over!  I worry about my own vulnerbility (sp).  I've wrote before.  About the deep down and pure honesty stuff that haunts me at night.  That triggers me at work.  That sends me into that tailspin and person I don't recognize.  I want to write about that.  I've wrote about it before.  And the person I shared it with pushed.  To hard.  To fast. And I wasn't safe. With her. With myself. With anyone.  I wanted to write then and I did and then.....all hell broke loose.  So I quit. 

I want to write. I want to stay positive. If I write about what is true, there will be nothing positive. Nothing.  I want to stay positive, but I don't feel positive.  I wanted this blog to provide myself with hope, not bring me down.  I've not been very positive.  There hasnt' been very much positive in the realm of my moods, suicidal ideations, anxiety, blah blah blah.  There are parts of me that worries if I write and am honest there will be someone reading that will know me.  Who will figure me out.  The annon. part of this blog will no longer be there.

I want to write.  I want to write about the deep dark secrets that plague my moods and feed into the darkness.  I want to write about those things that will help me understand myself better.  Yet, being vulnerable is an understatement.  If I don't write or say them outloud, maybe it didn't happen.

I want to write. I want to write in hopes that I can understand why this battle continues. I want to write in hopes that if I write it all out, put it on here or wherever, it will all go away.  Far far away.

I want to write. I want to write how much it pisses me off that I'm still in therapy.  I want to write about how upsetting that is to me.  Yet, as mentioned before on this blog, I continue to go.  I want to write about why I continue to go. I want to write about why I've not even come close to touching upon some of the deep darkness and trauma.  Yet, doing so leaves me vulnerable. I'm feeling vulnerable. I've been vulnerable.  I want to write about that and yet can't seem to find the words, with out feeling out of control.

I want to write. I want to write about my job. Write about how I love my job. I want to write about how much I hate my job. I want to write about how my job sends so many triggers it isn't even funny.  Yet, if I write about my job. I will open myself up and become vulnerable, more than I already am.

I want to write. I want to write about the good days.  I wish there were good days. They are so very few and far between right now.  There are snip-bits here and there.  Yet, I can't seem to find it.

I want to write. I want to write about, the many times I snap at my husband. During those snapping moments how there is a part of me that can see/sense/feel that it isn't me....the TRUE me.  The ME before.  And I want to write about the Before. I can't remember the Before, right now.  The only part of the Before, I can remember is the longing to be a mom.

it wasn't supposed to be like this.

Awhile back I posted this link on another blog that I journal on in regards to the disruption of our son.
Title was the same. 
Meaning - not the same.

This song is beautiful.  It is simple beautiful.  And there isn't a time where I can listen to it and it doesn't mean something different than the time before.

The Before....

as in this very moment.

I REALLY miss the me that was Before.

And I'm struggling a ton with that Before imagine.  And what it looks like vs today.

Combination of a few posts

For some unknown reason to me - I've been unable to log into this particular blog for the last week.  It will sign me out of my other gmail/google acct.  I'm trying very hard to keep the accts separate.  At this point in time - I'm pretty certain there are no readers on this particular blog.  Which, btw is fine with me.  This is for me. For me to see the ups/downs and the pure take me outs.  I would like to be able to figure out a 'pattern' that may/may not be contributing to the lows and knock down take me out days/weeks.  I can no longer (or I don't really think I should) attribute it to some of the grief and such that went along w/no longer having one of my children in my home.  To no longer being that childs mother. 

Regardless, I wrote some of these accts over the last few weeks.  Saved them in my email and am going to cut/paste them into the blog since I'm able to log in...today.

Treading Water
Sometimes this is exactly how I feel. 
As if I'm slowly hanging out in some large body of water.
Treading water...slowly...slowly.
I guess one could argue that my head is above the water and so that is a good thing.
For this moment, I will agree.   
I don't know how much longer I can keep it this way.
Slowly the life preserver that I've had holding me up has continued to fall.

The last several days and weeks I've struggled a great deal with this "suffocating" feeling.  I can't breathe one day or another....not in as "I am truly out of breathe".  More-so....depression has sunk in so severely that I wish I never woke up that morning.  I wish I could say it is clinical.  The logical part of my brain says "if this were situational....you could fix it or attempt".  I am certain it isn't situation.  Sure, there are many stressful things going on in my life.  But, as my therapist commonly says "everyone has life issues" or something to that matter.  She's right.  If it were situational it would be so much easier for me to vocally say...hey look at this happened and I'm on the right track to fixing how I think/feel/react.

Before anyone gets concerned and goes freak show on me....don't worry. I'm fine. I'm okay. I'm not going to hurt myself.  I may think about it often but truth betold: I have 2 of the most beauitful children (biased i know) inthe world.  I love them more than life itself.  And w/o them....sure there would be reason to worry.    These 2 special spirits need a mother.  I could never do that to them.  It is because of these 2 children that I get up out of bed.  It is because of these 2 children....I..WILL...Get Up...Again and Again!!

I've tried to excercise the depression away.  Somedays 20 minutes on the elliptical does the trick.

Today. Not so much. No amount of excercise is going to do the trick.  I knew from the moment I opened my eyes at 2:45am, 4:15am and then again at 6:30am...I was screwed.  There was no other way around it.  I was half tempted to just stay in bed.  Light work day for me was in store, I was pretty sure (and I was right). 

I'm tired of the tears. I'm tired of living this way. I'm tired of faking it till I make it. I freeeking hate it.  And yet...what choice do I have but to continue on.


Why can't I just be depressed w/o so much freeking anger?
My poor husband.
My poor children.  I try very hard to tone it down a ton when they are around.
But there are some days where there is no control.
None. What-so-ever.  And then the guilt comes into play.
Recently, my dh and I had an arguement over groceries.
He does all of the cooking and shopping (most of the time).
And I know he tries very hard. And I'm sooooooo appreciative (sp) of it.
And 2 weeks after that lil tirade arguement that my daughter walked in on part of...
I still have overwhelming guilt.  Lots and lots of it.
That evening I cried myself to sleep. Again. Not uncommon these days.


Tuesday, May 17, 2011


I'm guessing that many people who are depressed suffer from anxiety.  And vise versa.  My anxiety doesn't control my life.  However, it does add to the depth of my depression. 

I worry about everything.
I worry about my employer finding out about my signficant anxiety and depression and loosing my job.
I worry my kids will grow up to resent me and inherit this awful disease.
I worry my husband will have had enough of my sudden outbursts that make no sense at all and leave me.
I worry daily that my boss will fire me.
I worry about screwing up and hurting someone at work.

This worry often causes me to sit almost paralyzed.  Unable to move forward.  Stuck in this position of fear and worry.

I worry someone is going to break into our house at night and hurt my family.  I often jumpt at every little noise, even from a sound sleep.
I worry about confrontation.  I avoid it at all costs.
I worry about going to the doctor because if there is something wrong with me it'll be because I am stupid for not taking care of myself, exercising more and eating healthy...which is all of my own doing.
I worry about being completely honest wiht my therapist.
I worry about being completely honest with my pyschiatrist.

I’m worry no one will understand a word I am saying. This is what goes through my mind on a daily basis.
I am ashamed and embarrassed of all these fears, it makes me feel like a loser. I feel very safe when I am alone but depressed because I am alone. I think a lot of this could fall under social anxiety disorder and yet sometimes I'm the most functional when I'm around others.  Heaven forbid, my job consists of being around people.  Lots and lots of people.  So much so that they sometimes touch me.  Yet, I sitting in the waiting room of a full doctors office will increase my agitation/anxiety 100%.  There is no where else to go in my drs office.  Thankfully, I am able to walk out into the hall when I'm at my therapist/pdocs office.  Regardless, these are the things that paralyze me often. 

Today, yesterday, last week.....

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Okay anxiety, you have come and visited for long enough.
You have worn out your welcome.
It's time for you to go back home!

Monday, May 9, 2011

A while ago, not sure where or when or how -- I came across the following quote.

“Depression is like this: there is a magic wand lying 8 feet away from you that will cure you completely. But it’s too much trouble to go pick it up. And even if you COULD get to that wand and wave it, it wouldn’t work on you anyway because your brain is clearly busted, no matter what people are telling you.” — Dick Cavett

I like that. It describes the state I’m in now. This feeling like I know something is wrong and I know what I can do to help it but I just … can’t.

It’s hard to talk about the specific thoughts that plague me during the darker days of depression.

I am finding that it is harder and harder to vocalize most of the darker thoughts because they scare me. I want to believe that if I dont' say them outloud they will hold less power over me. It isn't working so well.

In my every day world - at home, family, work....I'm able to put on a mask and fool those around me. I know deep down inside that I'm am not fooling myself and I can't hide behind that mask.

I know exactly where this kind of thinking leads me: gradually with time the thoughts ramp up and up until i am unable to push them away. I may/may not mention it to my husband. Usually, not.  A casual mention to my therapist.  But nothing of the depths of where I really am at. 

I know exactly where that kind of thinking leads without treatment: the thoughts gradually amplify, until I am unable push them away anymore. With time, the thoughts start to crystallize from a foggy hypothetical to more concrete plans. And, most terrifying of all, the longer those thoughts and plans go unchecked, the more they start to seem like a good idea.