in a restless state of mind

In a restless state of mind

I had my appointment with the therapist Tues. We discussed the abuse. She asked if I talked to anyone about it. I said no. I kind of did when I was a teen but that lead to bad consequences and I never spoke of it again. Then she asked about my suicidality. She said that she had to keep me safe and I felt like we were going along the path of the “no harm” safety contracts that I swear was not going to work with me at all. But, again, she didn’t get more specific about safety. Just decided to work on a DBT skill, which I don’t even remember what it is. I am supposed to be working on it but fuck, I am in no mood to. I told her I would write the responses in a notebook but I’ve tried to find ANY of the million and one comp notebooks I have and have failed. No idea where they all went. I recently bought two. One I know is in my everyday backpack. Where the other one went, no fucking clue. My room ate it. I know when I am looking for something, one of them will make an appearance.

When I came home from therapy, I got into a fucking flare. My foot went fucking ballistic and stayed that way for almost 36 hours. I woke up at 430 am yesterday and just said fuck it. I was thinking on acting. And yet I was hindered by my psych saying I should call her when I was thinking on acting on my urges. Well, it was 0430 in the morning so I wasn’t going to call her then. I sent her an email and tried to go back to sleep. My mother can always be counted on to disrupt my sleep as she called around 11 or so to see if the goddamn windows were closed as it looked like rain. Thunderstorms were supposed to happen through today. Around 2 I still hadn’t heard from my psych so asked her if calling her later was okay and she responded giving me a time. She called before I could call her at that time and we talked. She asked why my pain is always the cause of my suicidality. I told her it is just too much. I had foot swelling Tuesday night that continued until this morning and it was so fucking painful. I had three different types of pain going on that were so damn high it wasn’t even on a scale. So I just decided it was time to end it. She said no or she would send an ambulance for me. Shit. We are to talk again on Sat. I really don’t want to fucking talk anymore. I just want this fucking suffering to end. My plan is still on. She said she has the pipeline dream of me being better. I told her at least one of us has hope and she said she will hold on to that for both of us.

I got a response from my wonderful PT about what to do about the back situation. She said there are specific exercises to help stabilize the spine and can be done in like 7 sessions. I am not sure if I want to go back to PT as I just ended. I told her I had other fish to fry and when it is done, I will be in touch. I read the report as it came in last night. I have a new herniation at the beginning of my spine at T12-L1. It is minor. The worst one is at L3-L4, which is in the middle of where I had surgery. That is the disc that has gotten worse and is near my L3 nerve root which could be why my bladder is being so dysfunctional. I feel like I am a ticking time bomb. This level is unstable. If the disc goes or if I see a surgical consult, I most likely will need a fusion. I am not going to have a fusion because everyone that I know that has had one has had more pain. From what I read, fusions were only to be for the neck, not the lumbar part of the spine. I am wicked bad at remembering where I read stuff, so not sure if it was a journal or what. Don’t even remember the year but that is what sticks out in my mind. I could be wrong. But it would make sense as to why so many people with fusions have had them fail on them. Not saying everyone with a fusion hasn’t been helped. I just haven’t found those people.

feeling shaky

Feeling shaky

I had a few hours sleep. I had another bad night of pain that kept me up. Around 2 I started writing a letter/email to my psych. I told her how frustrated I was with her being dismissed and my anger about the institution. I also told her how difficult it is to call her when I am suicidal and thinking about acting. I had emailed her to find out when I should call her. She always said to call her but I didn’t know when it would be okay to do so. I always feel like when I call her, it should be an emergency as I usually just email her. I only call if my anxiety is through the roof and I can’t calm down or I am in overwhelm mode and need her to help calm me down. I haven’t had a response to the email, yet. I am not sure I will but we will see.

When I got up, I had one coffee, a cold brew. I had to go to the grocery store and the pharmacy to pick up my meds. I did a little shopping and got my favorite ice cream. I was worried it would be soup by the time I came home as it is really hot today. Tomorrow is going to worse. I hate summer. I went home quickly and luckily I didn’t have to wait long for the bus. I was starting to feel shaky when I came home, like I had three cups of coffee or something. I still am feeling jittery, even after I ate and had a soda. I just took some pain meds and my urine retention meds as I haven’t used the bathroom since I got up. I hate that my bladder isn’t working right. I see the urologist next week to find out what is wrong, though I suspect it is the nerve damage that I have. I don’t know if I will have to self cath or not. I hope not. I don’t know if the med I am on needs to be increased or just switched to another one. I did have success with Flomax when I was in the hospital for my second surgery. It really helped with the retention but didn’t always work after the re-do surgery as I was retaining. I remember when I had the MRI I was completely gone. My mental status was out in left field. I was being catharized and it was like I knew where I was but I didn’t. I thought I was in the ER but I was on the floor of the hospital. Least I knew I was in the hospital.

I have therapy tomorrow and I will discuss my past abuse which is going to be really difficult as I am having PTSD symptoms that are really bothering me. I had a medical procedure when I was little and I keep having intrusive memories about it. I don’t know what kind of test they were doing. I just know I was screaming for my mother and they had to restrain me as I was fighting them severely. I was totally freaking out. They had to sedate and anesthetize me. I was so distraught. Then I felt like my mother abandoned me and I was really angry at her. But I couldn’t tell her I was mad at her. I was a kid and you just didn’t say that to your mother. I have no idea if this created the voices. I was talking to them the whole time I was up and my thoughts were really fucked up. I had to take another antipsychotic to quiet them down. They were still quiet this morning and I had a hard time thinking. When they are quiet I find it hard to function. I need the “background noise” as I feel empty when they aren’t there. I also feel alone. They have been with me since I was five.

I am not really feeling anxious. It is more like agitation. I want to keep moving but don’t feel like it. I am really restless. I wanted to write to see if I could calm down as that sometimes works. Last night I wrote like three pages in my journal and it didn’t help. I just got more keyed up.

I really, really hate when you tell someone you are hearing voices and their immediate response is to tell them to shut up, like that fucking works. It irritates me so much. Like don’t you think I have tried that? Fuck. People have no clue what I go through or really anyone who have hallucinations, whether they hear or see them. I really don’t know what the “right” response would be but I know it isn’t “tell them to shut up.”

I think I am having side effects of the trilafon I took last night to quiet the voices. It feels similar to what I have experienced when I was on abilify. I probably need to take an Ativan to shake off the side effects. Living with this shit is so fucking hard. I am so tired of side effect of my medications. I know the risks outweigh the benefits but dammit, I hate the shakiness. I hate the constipation. I hate the brain fog and cognitive impairment.

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.

heartbreaking day

Heartbreaking day

I left my house a half hour earlier than I wanted to because I just couldn’t sit around waiting for the bus after I shaved and brushed my teeth. I won’t be shaving the sides and back of my head anymore as I fucked up the back and sides top hair. The razor got too close. So now I will let it grow out. I might let my facial hair grow to, though my mustache is taking forever right now. I wanted to get my eyeglasses today.

I got to Boston around 1 and by 130 I was done. I only bought sunglasses as that was a priority. I was then told my insurance only covered one pair of glasses per year. Fuck. That would mean my glasses would be out of pocket and run at least $300 minimum. I might have to use the online sites to get them. I can usually get them for around $80 or so. I think I am going to try another place than the one I used before, only because the glasses need to be adjusted, though I don’t know what my pupil distance is. I don’t know if I still have the measurements from the last time I ordered. Will have to look.

I then went to the hospital and had something to eat at the café. I already had my Starbucks and didn’t need more caffeine. After eating, I pulled out my journal to write as I had an hour to kill before my pcp appointment. About twenty minutes later I get a phone call with the hospital number. I answer and it’s the psych department wanting to schedule an appointment with the new psych. I swear my heart took a dive and stayed there the rest of the afternoon. I almost lost it after setting up the appointment. I had to see my pcp in like twenty minutes and I couldn’t have an ugly cry breakdown. I stuffed the feelings and then got anxiety really bad. I think my heart rate dropped because after walking to the office and going up some stairs by heartrate was only 65. It should have been higher. My pcp and I talked about pain meds and he wanted to change it to something else, but he didn’t know how to do it. He is going to send me to a pain clinic west of Boston where I see my neurologist. He asked if this was okay and at the time I agreed. I got my meds refilled and then set up another appointment to see him in a few months.

As I was walking to the train station, the anxiety got worse. I didn’t have my meds on me as I didn’t wear the jeans shorts. It was too hot out. I listened to music, I didn’t care what kind at that point; nothing was going to calm me down. I got to the Square to wait for the bus home when it grew dark. T-storms were going to happen and I was going to get caught in it. Sure enough by the time the bus got to the main road where I get off at my stop, the skies opened up. The downpour was sort of refreshing but freaking cold. It came down so hard and fast streets were flooded. I must have walk into at least half a foot of water as my street is at the end of a hill. It was fun walking in the rain but at the same time, not so great for my ankle as it was kind of unsteady with water in my shoe with the AFO and the other’s laces untied. I was completely soaked by the time I got home. I was glad my niece was home as I asked her for a towel to dry off some before heading upstairs. We have ceramic tile floors and I didn’t want to go flying. I am glad my sister was home to get me a change of clothes. I dried off and then put my wet clothes in the dryer. I then got to my room to turn the AC on because even though I dried off, I was sweating a lot. The temp dropped 20 degrees but the humidity went up to 83%. After I cooled a little, I went back downstairs to put my sneakers in the dryer and get my portable charger out of the bag so the wetness didn’t ruin it. I had to charge it anyway.

With all the ruckus of the storm, my anxiety went away but it came back like an hour later. My heart rate was in the 70s so that was good. I thought it might be because I was hungry so had a protein bar. My ankle acted up so I didn’t want to go downstairs. I was kind of hungry but didn’t know what to eat. I didn’t want to cook anything. I still had the breakfast burritos but didn’t feel like having one. Those were for my really bad days. I had some pita chips and called it a meal. By the time I came back to my room, the pain had gone up considerably. I became suicidal instantly and finally made up my mind about it. I had always given myself dates that were a long time away and I had enough. So I may or may not go through with it soon. Guess it will all depend on how I feel that day and where I do want to end it. I am trying to stay so I can see my psych again but I just can’t anymore. The pain is too great and from what I read about the medication my pcp wants to try me on, I just can’t deal with both physical and mental pain at the same time. My heart is broken since I said a temporary goodbye with my psych and I hate having to continue my care at the place she was forced out of. I met her when I was a teen so she is a child psychiatrist. The new psych specializes in geriatric psychiatry. I have gone from one end of the spectrum to the other. I emailed my psych this but didn’t get a response. Also emailed her about what my pcp wants to do with my pain management, which isn’t going to be anytime soon. After 28 years of dealing with my mental illness, I have to call it quits. Monday I had to go to the ER to rule out cauda equina again because of my bladder issues and severe back pain. My degenerative disc disease has gone from mild to moderate and nothing can be done about it. So in addition to being in pain in one shape or other, what the fuck do I have to live for and why?