Monday, February 28, 2011

rough week

By Thursday, I was definately falling apart, and I knew it. So I went to my therapist, kept it together (mostly) until the visitor left, and then cried. I actually sort of wanted to go back to the hospital. And my therapist was concerned enough that she didn't let me drive home; a friend drove me home to pick up some stuff and then I stayed at another friend's house. Because I couldn't kill myself there.

It helped so much to be there where I had few worries (don't worry; I still got good milage out of some of the little worries), a place where I felt safe from myself. Friday, I saw Mr. Psychiatrist, and the "in the hospital or out of the hospital for the med. change" conversation came up. Once again, staying with friends saved me from the ER. Now I'm on yet another med, plus doubling one I was already on (excuse me when I almost fall asleep). Not off of any. But whether the break or the med change or both are responsible, now I am closer to feeling stable. It's like last week I was standing at the edge of a cliff and this week I'm merely sleeping near the edge of a cliff. Yay for medications that make me feel slower.

Today, I saw Mr. Psychiatrist again. He doubled the dose of the new medication. And seemed pleased that I had reached a point of stability (I wouldn't be so sure; I'd just say "closer to stability"). Then I went back to work. Got a headache, etc. To some extent, work helps me live in the present and lets me enjoy little kids. But then when I have to stay "late," I start loosing it. It was hard last fall when I left the hospital. It is hard now leaving my safe friend's house. My house is scarier (translation, I tend to have more disturbing thoughts at my own house). I guess to sum it up, what I mean is that I don't want Mr. Psychiatrist to give up, because I can stand this level of feeling bad for a little bit, but I may have trouble if it lasts too long. I'm not superwoman, okay? I get tired. Really exhaustedly tired. Cryingly depressed. Physically tired. (Got both ears infected by this weekend!)

But I move on one step at a time. That's all I could ever do and all I can do now.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Today I:
Worked late.
Signed a document saying that I'll pay back the money I owe the county for paying the hospital on my behalf when I went to the ER and stayed in the behavioral health unit without insurance.
Am attempting homework.
While my brain is feeling hopeless.
As if homework wasn't hard enough without a side monologue about life and mental illness...
And today, when the kids at work kept crying, there came a point when I wanted to cry, too.
And I guess I should really do that homework. Bribery (no, "incentives, natural favorable consequences"): if I finish my homework, I can write another blog entry.

Sunday, February 20, 2011

Will have to return guinnea pig harness. But traveled out of state (same as I do for my therapist and psychiatrist; don't be too impressed) to find one in an acceptable color that should fit him. It's red, NOT pink. And got an idea to make him a soft, comfy bed out of scrap fabric and stuffing from an old pillow... Anything to keep my brain positively engaged. Or even just to keep it from going down the scary path. Oh, depression, how I love (hate) thee. And with ocd added in, it's just fabulous (awful).

But I made it to church. I made it to the pet store. I ate lunch (so it was junk food; I still ate!). I went to the library. These activities are called "steps in the right direction", which are equated with "successes". Just ask my therapist.

I'm still so tired. The kind of tired that two long restless nights don't erase (what? you're not surprised?). A new fabulous realization is... people actually see my smile and think it means I'm doing better or happy or something!!!! That surprised me. Maybe I should cut some of the smiles out. Says Mr. Psychiatrist, you're smiling, so what does that mean? Says me, it's easier to smile than to cry. Basically, I'd rather smile at someone because I don't want them to be too sad that I'm so sad. And I don't want to over-react or anything. And yes, I smiled when I was in the hospital. Defense mechanism? Courtesy? Whatever. Oh, and I don't want the person in front of me to freak out, particularly people who are not my therapist nor my psychiatrist. And I see my therapist and my psychiatrist regularly, so don't worry. Here, pretend you see my smile and feel better about me. Someone might as well feel better.

Actually, I'm doing better than earlier today. I have a plan to go home and try on my guinnea pig's harness thing. And to watch something on the dvd player. And maybe to make or start to make a cozy bed for Sir Guinnea Pig. And maybe to go to the gym... And maybe read a book... And sleep as soon as possible without being more than 3 hours early to bed. Probably no more than 2. Probably not even that early. But to really know, I'd have to figure out what the regular to bed time would be, and I'm just not going to do that right now.

Saturday, February 19, 2011

another tired saturday

Today, I bought Friedrick, my guinnea pig, a harness so I could take him outside or something. It's too big, though, but I didn't want to get him the pink one. So I'll have to see if the big one works or if I'll have to return it.

Yesterday I saw Mr. Psychiatrist again. He told me I needed to sleep to get better. Novel thought. So I'm taking Lorazepam at night to slow my brain down so I can sleep. Somehow last night was plenty restless even with Lorazepam. What am I doing wrong?

I asked that in tears over the phone to a friend. What am I doing wrong? And she said, nothing. The thoughts that jump around my brain aren't there because I'm sinning. I wonder if I could quite believe that. Surely it is evidence of deep and rebellious sin that my brain thinks such thoughts (typical of moderate or severe depression). Or maybe not.

I just read someone else's post about being compassionate to ourselves. That's hard.

Do you know how exhausting it is to be afraid to be in your own home? Not conducive to getting my laundry done either; I'm on week two without doing laundry. I'm so ready to fall apart, but once again, afraid of being at home. And out side of the home, I kind of keep it together. I'm not too interested in crying in front of the entire library. Besides, crying would require too much effort.

I was supposed to see Mr. Psychiatrist again next Friday, but our schedules were at odds, so I'm now set to go a whole week and a half before I see him again, and that just feels long. I don't want to think of feeling this bad for a week and a half.

So back to my coping skills. Dealing with the world a little tiny piece at a time. Calling a friend, having mercy on my very sleepy self.

Ms. Therapist talked about short term supplamental disability income so I'd only have to work part time (which is pretty much what I currently work - well, maybe half the days I work. Other days I work more like 3/4 time). I feel so discouraged. When my therapist is talking about such options. Why can't I be doing better? Meanwhile, I'm feeling half asleep. Gotta love medication and/or lack of sleep. This will get better. I know it will. I believe it will. And for now, I'll just keep putting one foot in front of the other, with a few (or many) pauses where I turn into a statue. I wonder if that's a side effect, my muscles tensing up and just freezing. But I can move, just as soon as I work up the mental strength to do so.

Saturday, February 12, 2011

tired Saturday

I saw Mr. Psychiatrist and he changed my dose and wants to see me next week. I like that. A week seems so much more doable than two weeks, which is still so much more doable than a month. Because I can make it for a week.

Mr. Psychiatrist took perhaps a more serious view than Ms. Therapist. And I think I side with him (but after all, I'm good at taking the scareyer view). So I'm busy being med-compliant and treatment-compliant. That means (to me) that I'm commited to getting help when I need it and taking action to keep myself healthy (such as watching a movie, reading a book, going to the store, etc., for my mental health). Exposure Response Prevention? Some day, some day, maybe. For now, I'm just keeping going.

Last night my ear kept me awake. I thought to myself that maybe if my ear didn't hurt OR my brain wasn't so agitated, I could sleep, but as it was, it was a chore to fall asleep. And I had been planning on catching up on sleep today! So instead I'm moving sleepily along with what is probably an ear infection and tiredness and more tiredness and more tiredness. Because I like nine and a half hours of sleep much better than seven and a half. But my brain has been kinder to me than it was the early half of the week, so let me not complain too much.

Thursday, February 10, 2011

don't research

I ... do research. Even when I KNOW I shouldn't. And then, I've done plenty of research before becoming as knowledgeable about ocd and the danger of researching, so I can still get lots of ocd milage off of that (such as, did you know that such-and-such allergy medication that I take can lead to such-and-such serious problem... and today the dr. said, that's really not likely. Oh.).

Anyway, Wednesday's research was enough to really freak me out. I KNEW I shouldn't do it, but I did it anyway. Many tears later and finally talking to my counselor today, the world turned right side up again.

And here's my scarey obsession.... please don't over-react - you can research it and find that it is not abnormal for people with more "pure-o" ocd... then again, if you have this, you might not want to research it... the obsession of ending my life. Not so different from all the other obsessions. I'm afraid I'll make somebody sick. I'm afraid that pothole I just drove over wasn't a pothole but a person (even though it looked like a pothole, maybe I saw wrong. Let's check the rear-view mirror. Wait, check it more slowly/thoroughly to let the messageregister in my brain that it really is a pothole). And so on and so forth. Scarey thoughts that I don't want to advertise. But they are just thoughts, not in themselves dangerous, and not even unusual - the unusual part being how the scare me so much and keep annoying me so much. And when I get better ('cause I'm planning on getting better!), these thoughts won't make me so miserable.

Tomorrow I see Mr. Psychiatrist, so maybe that will be helpful medication-wise.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Another day. Today I got off work early! Which is good, because I think a little less stress in my day might be helpful.

I overheard a conversation in which it sounded like taking medication for anxiety was as effective as the right antibiotic for a sinus infection. I felt like that was unfair. Maybe it happens for some people, and I'm glad for them. Then there are the others of us who try multiple medications before finding a good fit. And I know, there are others who don't find a good fit. I'm still hoping I'm not one of those. I want medication to work for me.

As I mentioned, I'm switching my SSRI from fluoxatine to fluvoxamine (if I got their names right). This is a change that I wanted. But it has left me feeling like I felt in the dark months of September and October, no longer "stable." I guess that makes sense. Suppose the fluoxatine did do some good even though it didn't get me better than moderately depressed. Then going off of it, I could expect to return to severely depressed. Meanwhile, though I've started the fluvoxamine, I'm not on a high enough dose yet to help me (at least not to help the ocd). So maybe it's a rough transition to something better. Or maybe it's a rough transition to another medication dead end. But let's be hopeful for the moment. This should get better, and I'm seeing my psychiatrist Friday.

Then there is the Seroquel complication. The Dr. said something about the fluvoxamine potentially raising the dosage of the Seroquel, which could make me more tired (or I missunderstood him and he said something else). Yeah, I'm more tired. But I've been having trouble sleeping at night, so I'm not sure what to blame. We'll see what happens Friday.

Anyway, I'm happy for a break from work, and I intend to finish watching a movie that I started last night.

(Speaking of starting and delaying finishing things, I didn't used to be able to read fiction books at night and reliably put them down before reaching the end, but recently I've been able to for a longer stretch than normal.)

Sunday, February 6, 2011

happy Sunday. To you. I'm having a bad day. Got myself to actually go to Sunday School (i.e., not sleep in so late), but then I was sitting there going cross-eyed (which happens when I'm really tired). My counselor didn't like my "this good thing happened, but ..." style of writing. She wants me to stop waiting for the other shoe to drop.

I think it's ocd bugging me right now, but I'm not possitive (haha, that makes it even more likely to be ocd, doesn't it?). Distraction seems to work best. Watch a movie, read a book, sleep.

But my sleep has changed. To waking up multiple times and dreaming disturbing dreams. Shall I blame this on the new medication, transitioning off of Prozac, my cold, or something else? Who knows. But Friday I see my psychiatrist again. I can manage until Friday. Right? Or maybe I should resort back to the "call a friend" method. Find somebody who isn't already busy on Super Bowl Sunday?

It's the good old, I-feel-aweful state, but I think I just have to plow through it. One step at a time.

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

I got the oil changed in my car. I know that doesn't sound like much. Especially since I just went to one of those quick places and they did the work. Then I told a few friends, and I was so proud of myself because I had actually taken my car in to get the oil changed and they looked at me like, "what on earth could be scarey about that?" I talked to my counselor about it today, and she said it made perfect sense that it scared me with my ocd and that it made perfect sense that my friends wouldn't understand because they don't have ocd. Simple, really. ?

Now I got another cold. I was healthy for two or three days this weekend, in case anyone wonders. Really. So it didn't last... oh, well.

I have a test tonight. And yes, I'm a bit worried. Because I probably won't get 100% and I like to get at least 96% but I probably won't get that either. Because it's not multiple choice and the teacher isn't the easiest grader. But I'll work on being content with "good enough" (Ha! Only 100% used to be "good enough". But I'm changing my standards, so there!!!). Good enough when I have a cold and probably an ear infection and depression and ocd both in the moderate range and I'm working 30ish hours a week and I think I've run out of excuses, but I just need to do a decent, not perfect job. We'll see how that works out.

Now off to eat my yucky spaghetti (just because I told my counselor I'm eating, that doesn't mean I have to like my food!). And take my test. And sleep for lots and lots of hours hopefully before working tomorrow.