and just like that…

And just like that

I woke up when my med alarm went off. I know I fell asleep between 0230 and 0300 so I had a good amount of sleep. I didn’t take my meds right away and dozed until a little after 11. I had to use the bathroom and sort of wake up to talk to my psych around 12. I wasn’t in any kind of mood but pain was already a 7 and I hadn’t done much moving around yet.

I was still sort of dozing and kind of wondering what to do today when 12 came and I called my psych. She didn’t answer so I left a message. She called me back a few minutes later and we talked. I didn’t say anything about the plans for next week other than my appointments. She wants the therapist to be in touch with her and she is reaching out again to the new psychopharm that I will be seeing end of the month. She said she should know what her plans are by then and that I will be the first to know what they are. Back of my head was saying that was good but I won’t be here.

I had to use the bathroom again an hour later. My mother was in the bathroom so I had to wait. I am on my phone when she barges in so use the mouthwash. WTF. I was so fucking triggered because she closed the door and that always makes me nervous. I yelled at her and she is like it’s not like haven’t seen you before. WTF. I am a fucking adult who should be able to have some privacy when using the goddamn bathroom. Bad enough I have been dealing with the intrusive memories of what she did to me as a kid that now is just why the fuck am I still living with her. I just want to fucking die and that is the end of it.

Came back to my room and soon as I sat back down on my bed, pain shot up to a 10 and I was back to my suicidal mood again. I sent an email to my psych. I am supposed to be in touch with her Tues after my uro appointment. I am so apprehensive about it. I know I most likely will have to have an invasive test to see what is going on. I don’t know if I will go through with it as it is just creeping up the anxiety I have and making the PTSD stuff worse. Tentatively am planning on going to my location that day and rolling the dice.

I am not sure if the email that is in my drafts will be sent to my psych next week before rolling the dice. I can’t send it now and I really did not want to say what I had to say in an email. I wanted to mail it to her but I don’t have a physical address for her so that is out. I am sure I can probably get an address via Google but don’t think sending something to her home address would be a good idea. Fucking hate the institution she worked at for forcing her. I am just so angry.

I decided to make something to eat and that proved to be the death of me. I had just finished eating and was finishing up the rest of my coffee when pain just went berserk. It went up to a 12 and I literally could not do anything but force breaths out of my lungs. When the wave of pain slowly went down again, I put what I used in the sink and limped my way to my room. I couldn’t bear full weight on my damn foot. Going up the stairs was fun. I decided to at least put some clothes in my bureau and then I emptied my waste bucket by my bed. Within minutes of sitting back on my bed again the pain hit so damn hard I was breathless. I couldn’t see straight for the life of me. Pain is now a 12 maybe 13, from my ankle bone down the side of my foot. I can barely move as each movement hurts, even if it isn’t my foot. Trying to keep still is torture. I took my breakthrough meds even though I know a sugar pill would probably work better. But maybe it will bring the pain down to an 8 or 6 (doubtful, but could happen). My plans for a shower and doing something in my room are now gone. I got to take my recycling down to the bin and the trash, too. Guess that won’t happen today. I also wanted to package up some gifts for a few friends of mine that have a young child. Hope they will be happy with it. Also hoping my family mails it out should I go.

I am back to living by the hour and what that means is I don’t have a future. Everything seems to far away right now that even though Monday I see the therapist, it feels like years. I don’t know what will be happening tonight much less tomorrow. Monday is just too far away even though it is just a couple of days. An hour or minute is all I can handle right now. I am too overwhelmed with the pain and the suicidality that I can’t deal with anything else right now. It will topple the scales and I really don’t want to end my life in my room. The therapist said I was a pessimist and when I told her it was my middle name, she said she would update my medical record. Hard to be optimistic when you feel so hopeless.

Used to…

Used to…

I used to write in my journals all the anxiety and fear and depression that swept through my heart. The pain of living night after night in despair so great I thought I would never see the light of day again. It was cathartic and once the words were on paper (or in a word doc like they are now), I didn’t have to deal with them. The feelings were out, I felt better. I didn’t have to remember anymore.

I used to write blogs that had some purpose, whether in my clinical papers I wrote or my daily struggles with suicide and depression and chronic pain. It opened a portal so I could share myself with others who were going through the same things. It was the last remaining joy in my life before pain took over. I have been struggling since. Where I would used to write sometimes twice a day and the odd three, I barely write twice a week, if that many. I’ve lost hope in things.

I used to go to therapy with the hope that things would get better. Despite going through 10 in a short period of time (8 years), I still held on that the “right” one was out there. Therapist number 12 I thought was that “right” person until 16 years later we ended, on our anniversary date. She no longer wanted to work with me anymore. I had been in a lot grief since that day. Took me two months to try and figure out if I needed therapy and why I needed therapy. So therapist number 14 came along (13 was the interim therapist I saw while 12 was on maternity leave). He was different from all my previous therapists. He frustrated me more than any of them put together. I skipped sessions because of the anger. Then there were sessions where I felt we were making progress but like the other therapists before him, didn’t go anywhere the following week. In Jan of this year (2019) I realized I couldn’t stay with him after he told me to Google some relaxation stuff for my PTSD. That was the last straw. I had sprained my ankle during this time and decided going to therapy and working on my ankle were going to tax me like it did before. I got physically better, telling him I would go back to him when I was done. I never did.

By March of this year, I was having serious mood shifts of suicidality. In Jan because pain had been really bad, I planned a date to end it. It was the end of March. I had some of my ducks in a row to end it. But the month came and I didn’t have so many ducks as I thought I did. I fell into despair. Pain was keeping me up. The insomnia that I had infrequently, started to become more chronic. I was spending more and more time awake than I was sleeping. Add in not having a therapeutic relationship and I was barely above water. I kept writing my psych of 26 years how bad I felt nearly every day. We were in frequent contact as she was the only person in my team. The day I was to end it, it was raining. I had wanted to end it outside in a desolate place. The rain spoiled it and I had an appointment with my psych that day. I saw my psych as I have never skipped an appointment with her and wasn’t going to start.

April was torturous. By the middle, my psych wanted me to go in the hospital and I said no. I asked her why she wanted me still alive because at that point, I felt so worthless, I had no idea why she wanted me alive other than she “had to.” She told me some good reasons that I still remember. I tried to hold on to those. I starting thinking about writing another book that would be so outside my realm of mental health but would take a lot of research to do it. It would be a challenge and I hoped I was up for it. That lasted a few days. Then I was back in the despair and this time, it wasn’t letting me go.

I used to think that the hospital was a safe haven, a place to recover and get well, learn new coping skills and then be able to face the challenges outside better. With insurances no longer covering long stays, this is nearly impossible. Some people are lucky to stay past three days. Others stay just 24 hours like that has any benefit. I was hesitant to go back in. I was just about as suicidal you could be without actually attempting and I was getting close. There were a few nights where I didn’t think I would make it through the night. I honestly have no clue what kept me here or how I did it. I stayed for three weeks and then my whole world went to smithereens.

I was supposed to see my psych the following week but she changed it to the following Monday. She said she had some news to tell me and I listened. The institution she had been apart of for 30 years was letting her go. She didn’t go into the reasons and I asked her if writing a letter would help and she said no. I have been seeing her for 26 years. My heart broke in a million pieces but I didn’t know it yet. I still had one week left of seeing her and it would be the last until she was some place else, though she didn’t know where yet. She wanted to stay in academia and Boston is the academia capital. All the while I was to see a new therapist, number 15. The first visit didn’t go well. She hammered me with questions, took my history (I tried to stay away from suicide as that freaks mental health professionals out), and who I was seeing for psych. She asked me about my hospital stay and I thought oh shit here we go. She asked what I was to do with crisis. I said call my psych. But according to her, my psych had “terminated” me. I couldn’t comprehend that. I knew my psych didn’t, she said so and she doesn’t lie. She still wanted to be in my care, to take care of me. I didn’t know if I would see this therapist again. She was nonchalant about setting up another appointment with me. I said I give new therapists at least three sessions before deciding if they would work. She agreed on that point.

I don’t know what will happen the next few weeks. I am back to being highly suicidal without a voice. My one or two places where I catharized my feelings are blank, and have been since the day my psych said she was temporarily leaving me. Wed I got a call to see a new psych and I nearly had a meltdown in the lobby of the building where I first started seeing my psych. But I had to see my pcp so had to keep things together. I have had some medical problems this past week that are still unresolved. I never thought my body would be broken down so much at 43, but then, I never thought I would live to see this age.

I used to believe I would always write in some way, shape, or form. I never thought my words would be hard to reach for. Between the physical and emotional pain, the medications I take, and the pressure of trying to stay some what alive for whatever reason when I just want to fucking die, I am at a loss of words. Some times they breakthrough the constriction I am in, the blinders that say that I should die and nothing else matters. My psych asked me if I would be alright for next week, and she said Monday. I told her I didn’t know. I still don’t know. I want to find that desolate place and end it so fucking much. The thought of dealing with CRPS (complex regional pain syndrome) without pain meds is freaking me out, especially as they don’t work as they once did. It is no fault of the medication, just the disease process. Eventually, there will be nothing that will work for it and I cannot cope with that. I cannot imagine spending my life in so much pain when I already spent 28+ years of it managing the mental illness part of me. I used to believe there was hope out there. Now I am not so sure anymore.

Back in the Abyss

Back in the Abyss

I finished PT and had to get a coffee. It was decent. I then had to wait for the bus a good twenty minutes because I had just missed the one that would take me home. So I had to walk to a bus stop where buses were going by more frequently than where I was to the train station. I didn’t have to wait long for the bus home, thankfully. I was about ¾ of the way home when my ankle exploded in pain and I swore out loud. I then started to panic as I wasn’t sure if I would be able to walk home when my stop came up. The stabbing started and is still going on 5 hours later. It has been in the same fucking spot the past 3-4 weeks. I came home and then went up to my room where I basically have been the whole time, with the exception of going to the bathroom.

I took my meds. A thunderstorm has just started, which probably is why my pain has kicked off. I am so fucking depressed I don’t even care about baseball tonight. I have been on Twitter, though. There have been 3 homeruns, back to back to back. Last I looked at the score it was 8-0 Sox. Hopefully the bullpen doesn’t fuck it up. I have been listening to Luke Combs’s album, This one’s for you. It has tied Garth Brooks’s No Fences album in some record. I am so happy for this guy. I hope he sticks with the country genre and doesn’t move to the country pop shit.

While I was waiting for the bus, there was a guy talking to himself. Sadly, his conversation was similar to the kind I have with my voices all the time. I have been having this recurring fantasy where I am with my psych while I am in a room. She comes in while I am very agitate and just going off with the voices and it is quite clear I am having a conversation with someone. She is watching me while this conversation is going on as I did not notice her coming into the room. She calmly asks who I am talking to and I turn around to answer, thinking it is another voice joining the crowd, when I see her and immediately think “oh shit”. I was busted. I had this happen to me when my voices were out of control back in 2008. I was having a conversation with the voices when my research manager walked by me, mid conversation. God, these voices haven’t happened outside my place but they are with me all the time telling me how to do things or asking why I am going this particular way to a place I frequently go to. It gets annoying depending on my level of anxiety and agitation or if someone pissed me off and I am blowing off steam to them. To this day I am convinced that when my father called me a liar and I was very upset, if I had started engaging them in conversation, I probably would have schizophrenia instead of a mood disorder.

I wanted to order food. I still might as I am getting hungry. I haven’t eaten anything except a protein bar. I think I will be alright as the other day all I did was eat. I didn’t overeat but I just ate more than I have the past few months. I had wanted a beer so I went to my sister’s apartment. While drinking it, she had chips on the counter so I had some. Then I made a sandwich. Unfortunately, I had a reaction to the beer, which sucks because it was good tasting. I ended up having to take some Benadryl. With in an hour or so my tongue and roof of my mouth were feeling normal. I have no idea what kind of hops were used and if it had ginger in it. I doubt it was the citrusy stuff.

I emailed my psych about falling into the abyss as I am so far down a black hole right now. I haven’t showered since sometime last week. I hate that I haven’t washed my hair since getting it cut on Friday. My head is so itchy. I would tonight but my damn foot is hurting to much to risk it. Pain is usually better in the morning but the rain is suppose to continue till the afternoon, so we’ll see. Really hope I can because I feel like crud.

On and On it Goes

On and On it Goes

There has been a Mary Chapin Carpenter song that keeps going round and round my brain the last few weeks. The song is called “On and On it Goes.” The lyrics seem to resonate with how I am feeling and give me a kind of hope that I am needing. It is funny because the album, The Calling, was out in 2006. There are songs that are really good. I liked the album but as things go, I listen to it for a while and then move on to other music. She is no longer on country radio and I am not sure if she is on the genre of folksy music. Regardless, she remains one of my top favorite artists. I think I love her more than any other. Her voice is so soothing to me and I often listen to her music when I need to calm down. She is so amazing. She will be on the Terry Clark (another one of my favorite artists) Country Gold. I have not heard Terry Clark’s podcast in a while. I actually haven’t listened to any podcasts recently. I mostly just been listening to Mary or Luke Combs or sometimes Maren Morris’s “Girl.”

Last night was a rough night. I was highly suicidal and wanted so badly to act on my feelings. I was really struggling. I had sent an email to my psych in the early afternoon that I was okay and didn’t need to call her. Last night, I rescinded that message. I told her I was struggling and that I was not okay though I didn’t think I would really act (I was doing everything I could not to). I had written the email around 2300 but have had no response as of yet. She might have missed it or maybe doesn’t want to respond. I don’t know.

My schedule kind of cleared up a bit for this coming week. My pcp appointment I thought I had wasn’t there so I scheduled another appointment as I need to talk to him about my meds. Next week I will need a refill on anyway, least for the breakthrough meds. For some reason the extended release is a few days later. I have no idea how that happened. I can only think it is because the pharmacy was out and it took a few days to come in so now it is off my schedule for refills. I just have PT, which will be the last visit, and therapy. The following week will be tough as I got three and it could potentially become four with seeing the therapist. Hoping the therapist appointment will be the same day I see my pcp at they are at the same location.

I was feeling really depressed last night. Psychache was heavily weighing on my chest. I was feeling a huge amount of guilt and worthlessness. I also felt like a burden. I was beside myself with grief of not being able to see my psych and also the loss of my therapist of 16 years. The Sox game did not provide the distraction I was looking for as they lost in a big way, 11-2 to the worst team in the MLB. I have no idea why we lose to bad teams yet are able to win against those with winning records. Makes no fricken sense. But this is the 2019 Sox that are sucking so bad. The manager keeps saying “they need to do better” but I don’t know when that will be. Apparently in last night’s blow out, there were a lot of errors. I can’t say I am surprised because the way the lineup was flabbergasted me. They had players that did not regularly play their positions they were in and I can only guess messed up terribly. I know the right fielder did when there was an inside the park home run. It was downhill from there.

I wanted a beer today. I was supposed to see friends today but because of the high heat, we cancelled for another day. I went down to my sister’s to see if my brother in law had the one I was looking for, a Sam Adams ’76. He did. I had some chips and made a cold cut sandwich. By the time I was done with the sandwich, the roof of my mouth was reacting to something. I am not sure if the beer had ginger in it or not. It tasted different than the other Sam Adams I have had and was citrusy. I took a Benadryl just in case the swelling becomes worse. I tweeted the Sam Adams account to see if the beer has ginger in it. It has some strange hops in it that might contain it. There was no ingredient label on the bottle and nothing I could find on google other than the hops used, which might be what I am reacting to as well. My tongue is now being affected so I am glad I took the Benadryl when I did. Not sure if I need more or not.

Since going down to my sister’s, my ankle/foot has been acting up. When I came back to my room, the pain just got worse. I am tempted to take another breakthrough med. Foot is throbbing so intensely. It is bringing on the suicidal state I get into. I hope tonight isn’t going to be like last night. I really don’t want to struggle again. I am still exhausted from all my efforts to avoid acting on my urges. Hope the pain meds work. And the Benadryl. Going to take my night meds now and listen to the game. Hope they beat the shit out of the O’s.