TMS Update ~ Mental Illness Sucks

I've ended TMS Therapy.  I finished 2 weeks ago with 61 treatments.  Not the suggested and usual 25-35 treatments.

61 Treatments. (update: the report I received today said 48 treatments.  I'm pretty sure it was 61.  I counted 61 day on my calendar.  And that was what the therapist said on the last day.)

I lost track on how many of those treatments were dual for anxiety and depression.  AKA: Both sides.

Nearly 11 weeks of going every single day.  There were a few weeks of 4 days.  And when tapering began it was over the course of 3-4 weeks.  

I wish I could sit here and write how much better life is.  How much better controlled depression, anxiety, and mental illness is in my life.  Reality is...I can't.  That hurts my heart more than you can even begin to imagine.  I gave it my all.  Every single day.  I didn't cancel or miss appointments.  

If I'm anything, I am brutally honest.  And this blog has never been anything but that.  I've pretty much told those who don't like that where the door is.  You won't find rainbows and unicorns shooting out my ass.  

That being said....TMS isn't all it is talked into being.  It isn't this one day you wake up and "oh my freaking word the cloud was gone..."  No it wasn't like that.  It hasn't been like that.  Yet, every testimonial I've read has pretty much been JUST THAT.  Because those people...the ones who are so much better after 3-4 weeks of treatment...those people...they shoot rainbows out their ass.  They eat unicorn poop cookies for lunch.  And while I'm extremely happy for them.  I want to trip them.  I really do.  Because they gave me false hope.  Almost every single day I sat down in that chair I had high hopes.  Really high hopes.  

Slow and steady wins the race.  I know that.  I also know that I've hit a block.  A really big block.  It isn't going anywhere anytime soon.  Despite my attempts to barge over it, under it, through it, or around it.  It's there.  The elephant in the room.  

The hope has slowly faded over the last 2 weeks.  The reality that this...this life that I'm living...although a smidge better than it was....it is still pretty damn horrible.  There is no amount positive thinking, reiki, tapping, prayer, faith, you name it....none that will change that. 

Mental illness sucks. 

Trauma sucks.

And I'm tired of fighting it.  Fighting the thought that 'it will get better'.
Tired of buying into the thought that 'it will get better'.

I'm not very positive today.  You could probably say I"m never positive.  And honestly, I don't care.  I got out of bed yesterday to go to a massage.  And came back home.  Went back to bed.  I'm writing this from my bed. I'm not working right now.  Which it gives for more reason to not get up.

In the last 24 hours depression has hit hard.  Honestly, it has been long standing.  Yet, the last 24-48 hours has hit hard.  

I hope my next post can be a bit brighter.  Until then...this is what I've got.

TMS - Week 2 - Meds

Last week was rocky.  At best.  By the end of the week my tolerance to the damn woodpecker was a tad better.  Not significantly.

I'm still angry that THIS seemingly is my only... last option.

I'm not all that interested in adding more time sitting in the chair and adding treatment to the opposite side for anxiety.

Not sure when that will happen.

All this to say....
I wish it was easy as keeping calm and taking meds.

I wouldn't have to do this crap if I could.

TMS...Day 3

I can only hope and pray at the end of the day (or in this case treatment)....this will be worth it.

Right now I an not very hopeful.

The Apple Cart has been upset. 

And even though things were tough before...they are intensified at an all new level.

Today's treatment was spent listening to a TV show on HulaPlus.  I didn't care either way if it was on.  The tech suggested trying do watch something in hopes of distracting myself.  Not sure how well it helped.

I was in a pretty rough space before going to my appt and it only continued.

This evening I came home from treatment and have spent the night in bed.

TMS - Day 2 - Intense Anger

Today was the first full day of treatment. All nearly 90 minutes of it.
It was just myself and the technician.  So much nicer not having an audiance glaring at every twitch and move I make.

So much nicer not having several people there.  As I said previously, so far every single person has been nothing but awesome.  My perception of the entire process isn't as awesome.

Which brings me to the next piece...

The tolerance to treatment was a little bit easier.  The unraveling was not any easier.  Actually, it was a tad bit more unraveling than than the first day.

Over the last few days I've been incredible angry.
Angry that this is where I'm at.
Angry that this is the alternative.
Angry.
Angry that damn it this is my fucking life.

And then the anger subsides for a short time.
And then a variety of other emotions come to the surface.
And then before I know it the barrage of emotions...come crashing down...and I find myself in a pile of tears sobbing.

Because damn it all...this is my life
Because damn it all...I hate this.
Because damn it all...I hate that THIS is basically the only option I have left.

Journey to TMS - Part 3

If you've not read the previous posts on Journey to TMS...please start with the links below.

Part 1 ~ Journey to Transcranial Magentic Stimulation
Part 2 ~ Jourey to TMS ~ An Answer to A Prayer

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I can't promise I will blog/journal the entire process.  However, in the first week or two I will try.  With weekly updates as time goes on.  There are not very many blogs that discuss TMS Treatment/Therapy.

The following was wrote the evening after my first appointment and the day or so after.

Week One....Day One....or so I thought.
5/6/13
Today was the beginning of treatment.
Or so I thought.  It was my hope anyway.  Instead, I sat for almost 2 hours in the TMS chair while the psychiatrist and assistant attempted to find the motor threshold.
No luck.
They were unable to find the spot they needed.
I will return at the end of the week and see a different doctor from the sister-clinic.

My anxiety was high before the appt. today.  It is much higher now. I came home and spent the next two hours puking.  And the last 2 hours I've spent trying to stay present, not give in to the negative self talk and swirling associated with it.

TAKE 2....Week One...Day One...Retake.
5/10/13
Today was the beginning of treatment...repeat.
Dr. W came from another clinic about 1.5-2 hours away.  The psychiatrist that will be overseeing my treatment is local and new(er) to TMS.
Dr. W set up some parameters at the beginning.  Talked to me a little bit about a few options that he/we would have have if he was unable to locate the spot that was needed. It took a great deal of self talk to get me to this appointment.  My toleraence level was markedly less today than when I was there on Monday. After what seemed like hours they found the particular spot they were looking for...or...so they thought and on my way to getting this crap done and over with for the day.

After finding the proper placement they needed to find the proper dose or whatever it is called.I believe it is called MT-Motor Threshold. I can't remember right off hand.

And then they started the first treatment.  I had watched several different videos on what to expect, what  it feels like, and all that other jazz.  When Dr. W described what I may/may not feel he didn't give a very accurate description.  He told me "depending on how well you tolerate it...we may need to tweek the angle a little bit...if it hurts in your eye, teeth, or left side of your face let me know..."

SOB....he was so incredible way off.  I truly had no idea how horrific it would be.  I don't blog this to scare anyone off.  I'm brutally honest.  I wish that I had somewhat of a clue what to expect.  That first set took me off guard. To say it was awful would be an understatement.

Treatments are generally 37-40 minutes long or some damn thing like that.  However, the target dose is higher and requires the system to take a longer break.  Which means treatments will take about an hour and half.

There was much unraveling today.  I received half of the treatment today because of the length of time it took to find the motor threshold.  By the time I was done we were done today.... I was DONE....and I really was MORE than DONE!

It was comforting to have the technician be as understanding as she was.  My gut tells me she will be good to work with on a daily basis. Trusting her will be another story.  The Dr. and Technician from the sister clinic were super nice and sweet.  However, my tolerance for men providers isn't always the best.

It took quite awhile for me to pull myself back together so I could go to work.  I worked the rest of the day.  Stuffed the emotions and feelings associated with this.  The moment I am in my car and alone - the tears turn into sobs.

I'm angry.  VERY angry.
I hate that I have to do this.
I hate that this is my life.
I hate everything about this.

DBT, Self Sabotage, Fear, and Acceptance

This morning I received a phone call from the psychologist that facilitates the DBT group I previously attended.  I wasn't in a spot to talk to my therapist at the time the call came in and so I sent it straight to voicemail.

I know the DBT skills.  I was in the group for 9-10 months about a year and half ago.  I do use the tools I was taught.  However, there is a very strong part of me that is unable to use those tools from time to time. Okay, often I'm unable to use them.

As I drove home this afternoon from an appointment w/my orthopedic surgeon, the reality of I really do need to attend this group again.  Many feelings came up over the course of the next few hours.

This picture kind of illustrates some of those feelings. A small scared kitten...coming upon big bad puppies at the door in front of me.  Those puppies are nothing but lovable, endearing, and probably will be my best allies in due time. Just as healing can provide the same comfort.

Overwhelmed with fear.  Urges came to the surfaces.  Ones that I couldn't fight off.  I want to hide and run away at the same time.  I've wanted to do everything possible to not feel the true feelings about "What is really behind the emotions regarding this group..."  

I came home and took the DBT binder and put it in the trash.  Determined that I don't need this group.  I don't want to attend. I am overwhelmed with the thought of it.  And so, forget it. I'm not going there again.  Hell to the no.

This is where the self sabotage comes into play.  I have the opportunity to give this group a try again.  I have the opportunity to get the help that I need.  Not everyone is blessed with the ability to have unlimited mental health coverage like I do.  It comes at a high price (stress of my job) and I don't for a moment take it for granted.

What the hell am I so afraid of?  Why throw the damn book in the garbage?  WHY?  I took it out of the garbage.  Put it back in the drawer where I took out of and walked away.  The urges were more than I could fight off, again. I gave in.  Again.  For as long as there was hot water, I hide ran away from the intense feelings of where this was all coming from.  The fear became tears.  I could feel (or taste) the tears as I stood  in the hot shower.  I could feel those feelings.  And at that moment....I knew what the hell I'm so incredible afraid of.  What was driving the fear.  The self sabotage.  The self harm.

Holy Hannah it has taken me forever to write this far....to admit it...what I'm afraid of..I'm stuck.  Stuck in being honest with myself.

I think I'm afraid of finding out who the real ME is.  I'm afraid I will find out that I have the ability to beat this.  I'm afraid I will find out that I have the ability to live the best life I can and it is a life worth living.  I'm afraid of finally having to feel the real emotions,  and figuring out at the end of the day, who "ME" is.  Oh my hell that is freaking terrifying...being afraid of yourself is scary as hell.

Typing that..,,took me over an hour.  In between puking and typing...I got it out there.

I've done DBT before.  I know what the work is.  I know it isn't easy.  Nothing in life worth fighting for is easy.  I fear that a second go around won't work.  And if that is the case I don't know what will.  I know that I need to find acceptance with where I am at the moment.  That taking things one step at a time is the only way out.

Yet it is so f*cking terrifying.  I am acutely aware of who one of the psychologist working with this group is.  She is understanding, compassionate, and she knows how incredible difficult dealing with this shit is.  I know she only expects each participant to do the best she can do and be honest with herself (and them).  It is all anyone can ask and it has to be enough.

My options right now are limited.
Self sabotage is not an option.
I know that I need to find healing.

I know that finding acceptance in all of this will come.  In due time.  My options for this evening and the days ahead are to breathe and accept the challenges that lay ahead of me and accepting this group is something that would be in my best interest (along with whatever type of treatment that is needed).

Not sure where I heard this quote....it fits perfectly with today's theme.

"Sometimes the most courageous act is showing love and kindness towards yourself..."

I need to remember this. I want to remember this. At the very moment I can't remember it.

Dear Asshole (Part 1)

**I tried to keep this short. For my own sanity. This is a FAIR WARNING there is very likely going to be several explicits. It is what it is. It is where my heart and head is with this.  This is just the beginning of a series of "Dear Asshole" posts.  More will come as I'm able to process.  Each time I've ever started to write something similar to this I've ended in a pretty rough space.  Never got past the first few sentences and ended up in fetal position on my bathroom floor/tub for heaven only knows how long afterwards.

As the title states: Dear Asshole.  He is just that. An asshole.  And so much more.  As mentioned above it is likely these will not be pretty.  

Dear Asshole,
You may have been excited to see this letter from me since we've not had contact in over 30 years.  What pictures and information you have from me you received from your mother.  Good for her for caring.
I didn't want to write this when I was overly angry, emotional, or depressed.  However, those 3 words seem to be part of my every day life. And have been for several months.

This last bought of severe depression was not triggered by the trauma piece you help create. It is very likely it was just part of much more going on.  Each time I get closer to rising above the fog this particular piece begins to boil over. Causing there to be a ripple effect into my everyday life. You destroyed me in more ways than not.

I spent years trying to figure out reasoning's for your actions.  I've spent countless hours talking to other victims. I've spent countless hours reading and trying to sift to the bottom of why abusers abuse.  The more information I have found, the worse I've felt abut the situation.  They say that abusers have the domino effect.  The abuser was once abused.  That's bullshit.  I'm nearly certain that never happened to you.  Next option?  You strive to dominate.  That is exactly what you did.  When you could no longer hurt my mother, you choose to hurt me.  Fuck you!  You rat bastard.

I hope you woke up each day of the last 33 yrs of your life and took a good look at your shit-filled self and were eaten alive by what you did to me.  I hope you never forgave yourself for it.  I always thought I would be thankful for the day you died.  Each day I got closer and closer.  And the day that I got the phone call was the day when the previous 33 yrs of attempting to stuff deep down came boiling over.  Each day, I prayed for closure that you would die.  Instead, rage took over deep w/in my heart.  Rage that you took the easy way out.  Rage that you didn't suffer.  Sure, I'm sure you suffered.  You have never suffered a moment of the torment that I live each day.  You don't wear the physical and emotional scars that I do.  Those scars that are not seen.  Only heard by the rage that has built within me.

I can only hope hell is as it is chalked up to be!!  There is no amount of repentance that would bring you closer to the pearly gates of heaven. None. I know first hand that in order to cross that gate you would have needed to make amends to those you hurt.

Screw you!
Your Daughter

~Uphill Battle to Get Back Up~

A few weeks ago I wrote this post "Getting Back Up...is the hardest thing to do".  If you have not read it I encourage you do so. I also encourage you to comment and let me know that you...are choosing to get back up. This battle isn't easy. I don't recall ever being told it would be.  I have been told it would be worth it.  I don't really know that I agree.  However, in the meantime I have nothing to loose by trying and everything to loose by not trying. 

I've been sucker punched hard the last few weeks.  So much so that getting back up off the floor has been much harder than in times past.  There have been a few days in the last 2 weeks that I've not managed to get back up.  I'm not proud of those days.  I'm not going to beat myself up over them either.  Yesterday....yesterday...was one of those days....where I was sucker punched to the point of not being able to get up.  And so, I didn't.  Sure I got up....but I never got dressed...and ate just about anything in our house that contained gluten, sugar, and crap.  I didn't brush my hair. I didn't brush my teeth.  And one of the biggest clues to anyone close to me that something isn't right...is I hadn't showered...in several days.  Suggestions from my dh that I might feel better if I showered ended with him regretting saying anything to me.  

I tried hard to fight past it.  If you read my I Will Get Up Again and Again's FB page you might already know what happened later in the day.  I tried hard to fight past having face planted on the floor.  It didn't work so well.  I tried.  I really did. What followed wasn't all that pretty.

I'm thankful for my bestfriend who called and not knowing that I needed to hear her voice. Even if I ignored her call, sent a text telling her I wasn't up to talking, and then called her back.  Who when she hung up told me "I'm going to call you back in a little bit to make sure you went home. You better answer your damn phone when I call you back."

I hadn't went home.  I did answer her call.  And we talked about nothing for quite sometime.

I'm thankful for the friend who keeps pushing me past my comfort zone.  Encouraging me to dig deeper even when digging deeper hurts like hell and is even scarier.  Even when digging deeper brings up some ugly crap. I'm thankful for her persistence when I snap back she is able to snap right back, reminding me to check in w/what the trigger(s) may be at the time.

I got up and fought like hell against the voice in my head that said "* don't get up, stay in bed, you don't need to go..." And I showed up for sacrament. I sat in the foyer.  Spoke to noone. And got up and left as the tears became to much near the end of the closing hymn.  And somone was headed their way to sit near me.  Pretending I didn't see her coming my way, I got up and slipped out of the building.  During one of the talks my son came out to get a drink and go to the bathroom. He sat with me for a few moments and then disappeared back into the chapel.  I came home and sunk back into bed for a majority of the day. 

The Lights Went Out...

The lights have been flickering on and off for quite sometime. I've managed to keep them on for a few weeks.  Pull myself up and keep them from flickering off more than they were previously.

It's been a very fine line the last few weeks.  This morning I woke up with an impending doom.  One that I knew wasn't going to be easy to fight off.  I went to work, a therapy appt, and then back to work.

Overall I had a rather nice holiday.  Being home to much isn't very healthy for me.  And most certainly being home to many days...aka: stranded due to weather in the same house w/my dh....can be a recipe for disaster.  But...I DID IT.  And other than a few minor ppfffts here and there...my head remained above water, positive, and do what I can to make the best of a situation that I had no control over.  I mean...really I can't control when Mother Nature decides to dump 19 inches of snow in my back yard.

I was able to keep my focus and head in a positive light until after all my family and friends left Christmas night.  I went to bed with a heavy heart.  One that aches for my husband to acknowledge my existance.  Today J mentioned "he must care if he did xyz...".  I don't see what he did/said as caring. It was more of a show of "I (dh) do everything...she can't do anything".  I seen it as a act on his part to make me look bad.  Which he often tries hard to do.  I see it. My family sees it. My dad. My mom. My friends.  

When bringing it up today with J, I prefaced it on the grounds of I just needed her to listen and here me out w/o judgement. I don't need to be told what I"m doing wrong in my marriage.  Fuck if I dont' know it.  And for a few moments she did listen w/o judgement.

I get that I"m there for me. I get that he's not there in that appt. I get that she can't change him. I get that it is her job to help me change me and my perceptions/reactions and blah blah blah.

A month or so ago I believe I bloggd about the Charlie Brown Teacher's voice.  I also wrote about how my massage therapists interpretations of my 'charlie brown's teacher voice....' was me.  Me doing it to me.  

Regardless...that voice is back.
It is louder than ever.
I know I continue to go back week after week for my appts.

I've btdt and have the emotional baggage and scars to show for what it got me. I don't for a moment believe that I'm thinking on the all or nothing/black or white spectrum.  Regardless of how I come at my husband and regardless of what tone, empthatic bullshit or whatever I do....he's not going to open up to me. His walls will go up. They already have. He will shut me out. He will make it be MY fault. MY problem. He already has.  Regardless...at the end of the day...it is me who bears the weight and pain.  And it is me in the end who will loose regardless. I'm fighting a battle I can't win. I either conform to be "nice and empathic' towards him as J pointed out in my therapy appt or I loose in the end and it becomes about me and my anger.

Fuck the trauma aspect that gets brought into the picture. I'm sick of it always being about me.

And no couples therapy isn't something I'm willing to do at this point. He's the master of saying what therapist want to here and it comes back to bite us/me in the ass in the end. I know from experience. I sat threw months and months of it.  Only to be the one who ended up in the hospital with an eating disorder.  

SO fucking glad I took a vacation day so we could spend the weekend together. To do something no matter how small or insignficant...just to spend some time together. For our anniversary.  Instead, I've come home from work to a cold shoulder. To having him say 4 words to me all night. Thus why I've stayed in bed since after we ate dinner.  And I have no plans on getting out of bed.  I have a massage in the morning and I plan on coming right back to the very place that I am laying in at the moment.

The lights have definately went out.  There's no flickering. 

~Checking In~

One of my fav pics from local zoo.

I've had several messages asking how I'm doing over the last few days. I appreciate the concern.  Even though...my private responses or lack thereof may not seem like it..I really do appreciate them.  Comments to posts have went unpublished because of personal info of a few different comments. Again, thanks.

Things are about the same.  No better.  Can't say they are not worse.  The last 48-72 hours have been gawd awful. Very few moments of clarity.  I managed to pull myself together enough to work for a few hours yesterday morning.  Even though I was there at work. I did not work. My pain levels were a bit higher than they have been and I took a pain pill as soon as I got to my parking spot and got on the bus.  By the time I got to the office I was about to fall over asleep.  So...I sat listening to movies on my tablet and slept.  I seriously slept more than I was awake while I was at work.  Left work and came home and went to bed.

Today was day four of taking the low dose of c.ymbalta.  It will be the last day if things don't wind down quickly.

Fighting the Darkness

These days.  They are dark.  Daylight savings has kicked my ass.  So much swirling.  I saw my psychiatrist this evening.  It was a much over-do appointment.  Some scheduling snaffu's almost made it so the appointment didn't happen.

It was a huge struggle to put it all out there.  The good, the bad, and the ugly.  There wasn't much good.  There was some really ugly.  As I talked to her and told her some of the really ugly that has transpired over the last 8 weeks since I saw her last...I was overcome with a huge sense of broken-ness!  This is one thought that I've tried very hard to overcome, not believe, and not fall into that trap.  For the most part I'm able to keep it at bay.  I don't often see myself as broken.  However, this evening as I sat in Dr. K's office that is the one thing that seemed to resonate.

It was incredible tough being 110% honest with her.  Making her hear me for where I am at.  Not just that I'm in the ever revolving realm of suicidal ideation. A spot she is very used to seeing me in.  But more of getting across to her the depths of where I've been.  We discussed why I've not called to get in sooner, why I didn't agree to see someone else while she was out of the country, and some other things.  There are some things I can't seem to really bring myself to blog about.  It isn't that there is anything to hide.


Being completely honest and real with Dr. K was one of the toughest things I've done in a long time.  I don't always have full faith/trust in her that she won't decide that this time I won't need to be hospitalized.  I'm not okay.  I know that.  It is taking every ounce of my energy to get up every single day.  I can't even begin to express how incredible tough it is.

Yet, I do it.  I can't tell you why. I'm not even sure that I know why.  This evening has been rough.  After leaving Dr. K's office today I had a bit of optimism.  There was a very small flicker of hope that maybe a re-try with her readily availble should things go ary would be helpful.  I spoke with my BFF on my way home and felt confident that this was a good plan that we came up with.  And then somewhere in the 30 miles between her office and my home....it all went down the toilet.

I've been in this space before.  I've danced this horrible choppy slow dance before.  I know how incredible shit filled it is.  It's getting old.  I wish it was as easy as choosing to be more positive, make different choices, change this or that.  Lord knows, I've done it. I'm doing it. This is where this fight becomes to much some days.  

The Good, The Bad, The Ugly...Meds SUCK

**DISCLAIMER:  This post is a representation of MY thoughts, opinions, and experiences.  DO NOT stop taking your medications just because...I or anyone else say they SUCK or anything else that I may/may not say about them in this post...There. I. Said. It.**

I've not really blogged much about the medication change that transpired little over a month ago.  I was hopeful on many levels.  At the end of the 2nd week, I was seeing some positive changes.  Still a tad reluctant of the positive effects...BUT very thankful there were some definite positives.  There were negatives in the realm of side effects.  That is something I'm very accustomed to at this point.  I've seen my current psychiatrist going on 13 years this next spring.  She knows me inside and out.  I've blogged before about our love/hate relationship.  I love her dearly.  I hate the effects medications have had on my body.  I've taken just about every.single.thing out there.  After my gastric bypass, my ability to tolerate medications became much less.  As in MUCH MUCH MUCH less.  And so the battle continues and as I've said over the last several years....got much worse.

THE GOOD:
Medications are prescribed by doctors to assist symptoms, to target abnormal medical findings, assist and prevent illnesses.  These symptoms range in anything from pain, insomnia, hallucinations, coughing, chest pain, cramping, and many more ailments.  The goal of medications is ultimately to relieve symptoms.  At the end of the day, the goal of medications is to get rid of ailments/symptoms and prevent something worse from happening.  In many cases the goal is both....prevent and get rid of.  At any rate, the goal is to normalize ones quality of life/living.

Medications work.  Sometimes.  In some people.  They have the ability to make bad things go away and allow people to live happier, healthier, and more productive lives.

THE BAD:
The bad thing with medications is they have side effects.  Take trazodone for an example.  It is used as antidepressant, but it makes people sleepy.  SO it is used in a sub-therapeutic (for depression) to help with insomnia.  This particular example can be a good side effect.  Most side effects, though, are bad.  They are uncomfortable the person.  They are often the reason patients stop taking their medications.  Side effects are usually uncomfortable.  Rarely are they fatal.  Usually they are reversible.  Most often these effects go away once the medication is stopped.

The interesting thing about side effects is that few of them happen to everyone that takes them.  Take the side effects of SSRI's for example, a ton of people will experience sexual side effects, not everyone will.  Tremors, sexual side effects, weight gain, and sleepiness are often common side effects of SSRI's and other medications used for psychiatric disorders.

I've struggled with nearly every single psychiatric medication that I've been prescribed since my gastric bypass in 2004.  As a patient who struggles with severe depression, a condition that is impeding my life, it is often worth taking the risk of any given side effect.  Usually, I find myself somewhat hopeful the effects may not happen.

THE UGLY:  (and it can be ugly)
Side effects are unpleasant, at best.  Many have rare and really ugly effects.  The rare and ugly effects are actually not side effects..they are considered ADVERSE REACTIONS.  They can be awful, fatal, and in rare cases irreversible.  Tardive Dyskinesia is an adverse reaction, one that takes time to develop.  One that was a listed as a VERY rare side effect of a medication I took about a year ago.  The usual response to the UGLY is to stop the medication ASAP.

Increased depression, self injury, suicidal ideation in my opinion falls under the ugly category.  This medication is prescribed to relieve these very symptoms and then it increases it.  Occasionally, these reactions/effects can lesson after a few days.  In some cases, they continue to get worse and worse.  Until there is no choice to stop the medication immediately.

THE MEDS SUCK:
I'm currently in the VERY UGLY portion of taking a new(er) medication.  The last paragraph describes what life has been in the last few weeks.  Each and every day increasingly getting worse.  The last few days have been hell.  I've been here before.  I've experienced this before.  I spoke with Jodi last night about the effects.  My pdoc is not in the office at the time.  Seeing someone else is not really an option.  And I've been this route enough times to know that I need to stop the medication immediately before I end up in the hospital.  Jodi and I discussed taking it every other day.  The suicidal ideation wasn't as horrific, was manageable, and not constant prior to reaching the full dose. I'm unable to cut the medication in half, therefore, taking it every other day was the option that seemed like the best action to take.  Giving that a try was something that I was willing to give a try.  After today, I don't believe I will be taking it again. At least not until I can see my doctor in a few weeks.

Hellacious

I'm not doing well.
Terrible day today.  Actually, been several tough days.
 I don't want to go over it again.  I had a therapy appt with J* today.
 I didn't want to go.   Often, I say that. I always do.  Usually with hope and a desire to get to the end of some of the ick.  That didn't happen today.
Instead fear, depression, anxiety, and all kinds of other ick took over.   Leaving me unable to communicate with here to what depth I'm struggling.  
I wish it was different.  It wasn't.
I've been here before. Yet, it is different.
Today's therapy appt was more draining than any I've had in a very long time.  The aftermath has been numbing. Hell it was numbing while I was there. Shutting down completely.  Moving closer to the edge.  Came home and just wanted to rest.  Laid my head down and as I sunk into my bed, hearing my dh's words, I tuned the rest of the house out.  I wasn't sleeping. I could hear the TV and my dh folding laundry.  He knew things weren't okay. My body heavy. Shoulder, feet, back and head trapped inside with a prickly metal wire feeling.  It is the longest and most intense dissociating experience that has occurred in as long as I can remember.

I was reminded of this little saying "Sometimes it's okay if the only thing you did today was breathe" as I got out of bed to use the bathroom.  I crawled in the shower and sat there till the water ran cold. And sat there longer with cold water running over my face.  Wake up. Snap out of this.

About this time of my children came in the bedroom/bathroom complaining that he/she needed to shower and there was no hot water.  And so I get out and sit in the recliner.  Still numb. Still trying to process what it is that seems to have grabbed a hold of me by the horns and yanked me down under.

And so it continues.

No Real Words....Only Tears

I really have nothing to add to this picture right now.

Another knife in my gut as I walk the path of "when a friendship fails".
I've walked some really ugly paths over the last 18 yrs.  There were moments/days in my life where this particular friend was the person who is the reason I'm sitting here typing this.  The reason why I didn't create a plan of ending my life.

I've sat along side her hospital bed, as she lay in a coma, feeding her newborn....pleading for her life at the same time.
The disruption of our adoption/loss of our son...was painful enough.  The mere loss of the friendship that I once had w/my sister-in-law because of our choice to disrupt was tough.  To have the failing of this particular friendship....BECAUSE my sister-in-law has gotten in the middle....well it is just as gut wrenching as our disruption.

Pull up a chair...

...and take me serious for a moment or two.

Today kicks off the beginning of National Suicide Prevention Week.  Please take a moment and educate yourself on the resources available to you and your loved ones.

This is a battle that is very personal to me.  There isn't a day that goes by that mental illness doesn't effect my life on some level.  Not every single day of my life is plagued with depression, anxiety, ptsd, suicidal ideation and/or other issues associated with mental illness.  However, many aspects of my life are effected.  From the types of medication that I can/can not take, to the disruption of our son whom we adopted, to the effects that my own illness has on my children/spouse, and the long lasting effects of abuse/trauma not only for myself but my children.  We live this every single day on some level.

If you were to meet me on the street you would probably never know that this 30something, wife and mother struggles with depression and suicidal ideation on a very deep level.  You may not even be able to tell that I've been hospitalized not once, not twice, not three times...but four times in a 9 month period of time.  When I'm not recovering from a shoulder injury...I hold down a full-time job.  All this to say....you never know who you are going to meet that battles the darkness on some level.

In about 10 days will mark the 1 yr anniversary of my Uncle D's passing.  I wrote this post upon finding out the morning after that he took his life.
  Please take a moment and educate yourself about the resources available to you and/or your loved ones.   GET HELP FOR YOURSELF - CLICK on this LINK for info on where to turn. Call the number on the screen above.

This week, as I am able, I will attempt to blog about the things that have/do help me get to the end of some pretty suck-ass-I-can't-do-this-anymore-moments.

One of Those Nights

I was reminded by J* this afternoon to stay away from the pity party cycle.  At the moment, I was able to hear what she was saying clearly.  Agree and understand fully the damage it does. I heard her concerns loud and clear.  It is the same audio tape that plays out in my head everyday.all.f*cking.day.long!!!

Yet, we came home after a very long day of being gone. We left at 10:30am bc the kids had appointments and I had 3 separate appointments.  Each appointment was in the same area of town and so it made no sense for my husband to drive 30 miles home to get me and then back again.

When we got home shortly after 6 tonight, I was fighting back tears.  Pain was tolerable.  My body is just not able to handle doing what it ended up doing.  I don't feel like I did that much.  Considering unless I was at my appts...I was sitting in the car.

I should be able to drive by now.
I can't.

I should be able to dress myself by now.
I did mostly last weekend.
I can't now.

I should be able to do so much more than I am.
And I can't.

When I look around my house at WHAT things I can do....

There are very few things that I can do.

I'm left handed.  I can't move my left elbow away from my waist.  Ever. For 8 weeks. I have. I do. Because it is your bodies natural instinct to grab something when you drop it. Not always do I want someone helping me get dress.  Not always is there someone home to help me get dressed.  I can't scrapbook. I've played more mother f*cking games online than I care to ever even admit. I can't cook for myself.  Toast is about the extent of what I can cook.  Occasionally, more.

What am I saying?

Nothing.
I'm just whining.
Feeling sorry for myself.
Frustrated that I'm still 100% reliant on narcotic pain medication.
Frustrated that I'm beginning to worry about being addicted to these medications.  Because I know what the early signs are..
Frustrated....and depressed.

Really freeking depressed.

Slowly Processing (Part 1)

I wasn't able to fully get across what I wanted/needed from my therapy appointment this morning.  This isn't anything new and I find myself having this happen often.  Usually, I walk away with something to chew on.  Even though, I may not be able to assert or get across to J* what it is that I need to keep focus on...somehow there is always something productive...eventually.

I'm sure that something from today's appointment will come...eventually.  Mid-way threw my appt. this morning something switched.  It took every ounce of my ability to stay somewhat present. To not completely check out.  I can't say for certain what Jodi said or what I 'may/may not have heard' but it all went downhill from there.  There was one theme and one theme only that continued to roll threw my thoughts.  Regardless of how hard I tried to see things differently....it wasn't changing.  Several hours later...that thought pattern is still there.  

Often as I leave my appts with Jodi and throughout the day I will process my appt.  And usually, within a short time after leaving something will stick out and I will find it helpful.  Regardless of what thoughts, feelings, or emotions that were present during my appt...that processing begins immediately.  Occasionally, (such as the last few weeks) when it is all I can do to pull myself together and go to my appt Jodi will want to know why did I make it to that appt..and not the others? I go in with the hope and desire that even though I might be struggling and in a really dark place...there will be something that she will suggest that will stick.  That something isn't always easy to hear

Within about 10 minutes of leaving my appt. a friend called.  She wanted to know where I was and if I wanted to meet for lunch.  I left my appt fighting back tears and by the time L* called it was apparent that I was upset.  She wanted to know what was wrong and what she could do to help.  She listened to me rant about what a waste of time it was for both Jodi and I for me to make that appt.  Reassuring me that I wasn't alone and she has experienced similar experiences w/her therapist.  Reassuring me that on some level it is probably normal to think/feel this way.  This continued until I received a call from my doctors office regarding my recent mammogram.  And unfortunate for the nurse on the other line she got more than she bargained for when she called me today.

It has been several hours. I'm still in that funk. Still fighting back the same thoughts and beliefs that were present when I was in Jodi's office.

My best guess is that the darkness of depression is still fucking with my thoughts and beliefs.  I tried hard to go into my appt with an open mind, clear (or as clear as one can be in the depressive funk I've been in) from the distortion that often accompanies depression.  I didn't do so well.  

I wish the answers were easier.  I don't know what I want or need out of therapy right now. I know that I need and want to not be in this place. I know that the last million fucking years of therapy has gotten me right where I'm at today. I don't know when that switch, change, or whatever the hell it will be will happen.  

I heard Jodi and what she wants me to own and take responsibility for.  And (since I know she will read this)...I thought I adequately expressed to her that even though things are tough right now and have been for the last several weeks--last week being the worse...that I did not fall trap to the things that are easy outs for me.  This last week when I spent just about every day battling suicidal ideation and some days contemplating a way out...I made it a point to stay clear of the things that I know feed into the trap of self harm/injury.  I believe that is owning the positive.  Apparently, I wasn't very convincing.  

****This post has gotten long. It has taken me several hours to write/process...because at the moment that process is very slow!    

Patience

The alternative to sitting here and blogging at 3 am...sleep.
That would make to much sense.
On a good note...the dishes are washed, dried and put away.
My laundry is almost done.
And I've cursed SmugMug out 100x's over as I attempted to upload photos to their website.

Did I mention that I can't sleep.

Therapy is tough right now.  I can't seem to put words to the thoughts/emotions/memories that seem to flood in/out.  And that is the tough part.  I tell myself I will...and damn it all I"m gonna untie that knot a little bit more. And the moment I attempt to untie it little by little it gets snagged up again....and again.

I wish I could gather a little more understanding WHY the verbal part of this is so hard.


Tonight...
...I'm getting impatient with this process.  
...and tonight I'm frustrated beyond belief with myself.
...and tonight I'm fighting the urge to get in my car. I don't know where to go.  Because, everyone irks me right now.  I have no where to go.  No one to turn to. 
...and tonight I wish therapy wasn't tough and slow and muddy all in one.
...and tonight I want to be able to sleep.

Ugly All Over Again

I need to get this off my chest.  It might be ugly.  It might not be.  Right now things are ugly and so I'm gonna venture to say this will be ugly.  By 9am this morning I had went batshit crazy.  As in, lost my mother effing mind.  It is nearly 3 hours later.  Tears continue to fall.  Anger and frustration over the entire situation continues to build.  And if my son wasn't home right now I would have packed my car, computer, and one of my dogs and left.  I'm not even joking when I say that.

I try hard not to say things that are not loving, supportive, or nice about my husband on this blog.  When I do there is an attempt to see both sides of the story.  I know I'm not easy to live with and I try to portray that when I'm emotionally, physically, and consciously able.  This post will not shed anything but negativity.  I'm hurt. I'm pissed. I'm mad.  And this morning, I said things that I truly believe and were not the nicest of things to say.

I've tried very hard to contain my frustration with my husband for a long time.  I love him.  I know he means well. I know he loves me.  However, this morning I do not like him.  And saying that I love him is done with great hesitation.

Back up a bit.

...again this is for me....if you don't care to hear/read...click on to the next blog!!!

Our garage door broke a 3+ months ago.  I was no longer able to park in the garage.  Which wasn't that big of a deal.  I took it with pride.  When it didn't get fixed immediately...I was not surprised.  I never questioned my husband. I never even told him I wanted it fixed.  I know by doing these things he won't do it.  I know it will only make matters worse. 

Just like the ceiling fan/light he broke a week after we moved in bc he had some genius idea on making it work better.  It wasn't until a month ago that it got fixed.  And that was because there was an ultimatum placed before him.  "Fix the light this week....I don't care if there is a fan....I want the light...We've lived here for 10 months....and I want a better bedroom light....fix it by Friday (this was Monday)...or I will buy one for ME and my side of the bed...end of story".  When I came home from work that day....it was nearly fixed/replaced.

Back to the garage door.  I know that he can't fix it by himself.  I dont' care that I can't park in the garage. I do care that my children lock their bikes to our patio, that I can't sit in the chairs HE bought for me to sit in bc there are bikes in the way, and that I have to trip over said bikes when I come in the house.  I care that every time my son wants to play outside w/his "outdoor toys" he has to bring them into the kitchen and then outside. And I'm tired of it.  In the last 3 months the garage has become a pile of shit area for anything and everything. 

Lord only knows how J* and I got on the subject of the door and getting fixed this week during my appt.  I do know that I wasn't interested in spending the entire appt discussing the fucking garage door.  I resisted talking about it, coming up with a solution, or any other plan.  I heard J* and her reasoning as to why we needed to discuss it and how I could approach the subject differently than I have in the past.  I knew how I needed to approach the subject. I also knew, that no matter how loving and therapeutic I was....it wouldn't turn out good. 

You see, I've tried to put tid bits here and there.  Offering suggestions, trying to gain ideas from my husband, and even offering to help him myself.  I know it is a 2 person job. I know he can't do it by himself. I also know, that he needs an entire day to get it done.

After my therapy appt I talked to my dh on my way to work.  I asked him what his plans were this weekend.  Disgusted w/my lack of ability to remember what his plans were, he told me very matter of fact what he was doing on Saturday - until noon.  He also made a big deal about he has something every weekend until the 30th.  I didn't say any more. Few moments later he asked why and I told him I was just curious if he would have time to work on the garage and if he needed my help (whatever it would be that I could offer).  He gave me a firm NO I have tennis and coach training.  Whatever. I dropped it. 

Until this morning.

I should add; if you haven't figured out by reading or are new here.  My husband is a stay at home dad.  My children are school age, take care of themselves 99% of the time.  He carts them where ever they need to go during the summer. We don't pack our kids schedules full of crap. We can't afford it and I dont' believe in it.  I know he is busy w/the kids.  However, he has nothing but time.  He creates his OWN busy schedule and it is his fault if he doesn't make time for himself. 

still with me? i never said this was short and sweet.

I asked him if he would like to see what his brother was doing today.  I knew his brother is on-call but if he could come help him w/the garage that would be great.  He insisted he had to go to church. I let him know that he didn't have to go to church.  I could take the kids and give him and his brother plenty of time to work on it.  He made some other snarky comments.  I asked him again.  "Would you like to see if _ can come help you? If you do I would gladly go to church by myself and take both kids so you don't have to have them home."  He became very defensive with me.  I calmly stated what I said above again.  Adding that if he didn't want to do it today I would understand.  However, I thought maybe today would be a good day if he was up to it.  If he thought his brother would want to do that with him I would be sure and have lunch in the crock pot for them before I left for church and we could invite his the rest of his brother's family over for dinner.  He got mad and told me he didn't have time to be doing the garage door and cooking for them. Very firmly I said "J* (dh), if you don't want to fix it then just say so. I told you I will take care of the kids and make dinner.  But you have to make that choice.  Not me."  He rambled some other shit.  I continued with "J*,  would you just prefer that I find someone to fix it for you?"  And he lost his shit.  I lost my shit.  And it got ugly very fast.  I spent 20 minutes discussing this fucking door issue w/him without getting upset, being therapeutic, being loving, being....EVERYTHING that J* and I discussed in my appt on Thursday. 

He decided to bring finances into the picture.  It got really ugly.  I am the reason he hasn't paid someone to fix the door.  He made it very clear that my spending was the reason for everything.  I am going to say right here...that is not the issue.  And my spending has NOTHING to do with it.  He continued to banter and attempt to bring me down.  And make this about me. 

I said it was ugly.  It was very ugly. 

It isn't about me. It is about the mother effing garage door.  The fact that he finds reason after reason after reason why it can't be fixed.  He makes no attempt to try and fix it.  He fixes things for everyone else.  He runs and does everything for everything else.  And the moment I try and ask for something to be done. It can't be done.  And I'm the reason why he can't do it.  Every fucking time.

This fight was the mother of all fights.  He got in my face. He should know that after nearly 20 yrs not to get in my face.  He did.  Hell not to even come w/in arms distance.  Specially when you are going to spew shit in my face, twist my words, and make this about me...don't come w/in arms length.  I did not hit him. I came close.  Eff did I ever. I threw shit.  And our bedroom looks like a damn tornado transpired. 

It ended with me telling him it was probably best if we didnt' stay married.  Since it is obvious in his eyes and out of his mouth that everything I do is the reason for failure.  He didn't respond. He never said anything else.  He shut the bathroom door and got ready for church.  I got undressed and crawled back in bed.  He attempted several times over the next 45 minutes to smooth things over. It didn't work.  And still hasn't worked.  It is nearly 4 hours later and the tears are still falling. He will be home w/in an hour and I plan on leaving.  I have no clue where I'm going to go.

He left our youngest home with me.  I know he did it because he doesn't trust me.  It is the only thing he was probably right about this morning.

Here...Kind Of.

Having a hard time picking myself up over the last few days.  It's a different kind of low.  One filled with anger and grief.  Which ends up being filled with just plain depressed.

I find myself all over the map when it comes to thinking about how life turned out.  What the future holds for him.  What our furture holds with him.  I go from thinking about picking up a card and sending it to him, to wanting to change all our phone numbers (he knows my husbands number), to asking my husband to contact his FM and setting up a lunch date with him, and the internal dialogue goes on and on and on...

Why is it so damn tough to know what the right thing to do is?