Tag: depression

Up Early Again

by Midnight Demon, posted in chronic physical pain, depression, mood disorders

Up early again

I woke up around 0530 with back pain. I don’t know when this pain is going to go away. I could see what if I was doing something stressful, but all I was doing was sleeping. It is so annoying to wake up in pain.

When I woke up, two things fell off my bed and scared the crap out of me. It was my portfolio and a book. They made such a loud noise in my quiet room. I will pick them up later as I can bend down right now to return them back to where they belong.

I had such a long day yesterday that I couldn’t think of anything to blog about. Words were escaping me because I was so tired. I dealt with my father for 6 fucking hours. That was enough to drive me to drink. He was so ornery and deviant that I could have choked him. It’s a good thing I have patience with him otherwise I would have told him to fuck off and left. I really, really can’t stand him and I know it is only going to get worse as he gets older.

My mood is kind of low because I have not been having a good night’s sleep the past few days. I don’t know why I can’t sleep past six hours. But being in pain doesn’t help. Last night, before going to sleep, I started coughing really bad. I think I am getting sick so I am not going to be around my father today. My sisters can deal with him. I don’t know why I am so congested.

I really want to write my therapist a letter but I don’t know what to say. Things have been difficult between us lately. And she is clueless, as usual. I will try and talk with her about this on Tuesday when I see her. I might be able to take my sister’s car and visit her. But it will all depends if this congestion goes away or not. I don’t feel sick, but I just have this stupid cough.

I hope my therapist reads the last blog I sent her. Sometimes she does and sometimes she doesn’t. That makes things difficult because then I have to try and remember what the blog was about or worse, read it to her. That annoys me. I hate reading what I wrote. The difficulties we are having is that she keeps panicking whenever I bring up thoughts of death or suicide. Soon as I hear her voice change, I can’t talk to her anymore and I shut down. I feel like my feelings have no where to go and I get frustrated. The frustration just makes me more depressed and makes me feel alone. It drives me crazy that after 14 years of working together, she still fucking flips out over my suicidality. For once, I would love for her to accept it and explore it and possibly question it so that maybe it won’t haunt me so much. But I don’t think that is ever going to happen.

I was shocked, really shocked, when they were doing some pre-op questions for my father, they asked if he was in danger of hurting himself. I wanted to laugh and say he was too narcissistic to want to end his own life. But it seemed strange to ask him that right before he had surgery. I mean, if it was me, what were they going to do, put a watch on me while they operated? So stupid sometimes when they ask these questions. There are times when it is appropriate and other times when it is not. I mean, I get that suicide is an important issue to try and capture but I know that if the answer had been yes, things might not have changed. I just don’t get why they would ask something like that right before being operated on. It just doesn’t make sense to me.

I just had cookies and milk for breakfast. I really wanted to make some scrambled eggs but couldn’t be bothered. Yesterday I made them so very good. I put in three slices of cheese. I love when they are cheesy. I really want to have a poached egg but I suck at making them. I always break the yolk and then there is no point in eating it because the good stuff is gone. I like the yolk more than I like the whites. I also made a good cup of coffee yesterday. I was going to have a second cup at Starbucks but declined when I got to the station. I didn’t want to be jittery when I saw my father. That would have made things worse.

Long Day With Little Sleep

by Midnight Demon, posted in bipolar, blogging, cauda equina syndrome, depression

I wanted to blog yesterday but I was so tired from being up early that it just slipped my mind. I took a nap around 1700 and I was toast after that. Course that meant I woke up around 0430 this morning. I had to be up early anyways because my father had his surgery today. Everything went kind of well, though he still is leaking fluid and the docs don’t know why. They put in a drain to suck out the fluid and are hoping for the best. We’ll find out tomorrow whether he will be able to go home. I am hoping not because I know my father is not going to put up with the drain and it will be a disaster at home. It just isn’t going to happen!

I am so tired that all I want to do is take a shower because I didn’t wear a diaper today. That whole concept escape my mind and I ended up leaking, which left me smelling like an old urine cup. I know I also shit myself a little bit because my ass has been burning since my bowel movement. Got to love CES and damaged nerves. Tomorrow I have to go back to the hospital early so that I can talk with the doctor about keeping my father until the fluid situation is taken cared of. It will mean another long day at the hospital and I am just dreading just thinking about it.

My mother kept my dinner but I am not hungry. My sis bought me a tea and I guess you can say that was my dinner. If I get hungry later I will just make some eggs. I haven’t had anything to eat since around noon time when my father came out of surgery. I am so damn beat I don’t feel like eating anything. I just want to shower and sleep.

One positive thing today was that I wrote a few pages for my next book. I was so happy to be writing again. Tomorrow I will write some more, I hope. Depends on if I have the time and inclination while visiting my father. Sometimes it is not easy to write or read with him because he has to bug you while you are doing it. He is just an ornery bastard. I really can’t stand him.

I seemed to have developed a damn dry cough the last few days. It is annoying as all hell and I know it’s because I haven’t been sleeping good and just am run down. I also have the damn sniffles that won’t go away despite taking an antihistamine and Nyquil. Been three friggen weeks now that I have been like this but all the discharge has been clear so I don’t have an infection. It’s just annoying to deal with.

My sister has got my mother’s finesse for shopping. After the hospital, we went to the grocery store for milk. She bought quie a few extra items. I only bought what I went in there for, my Powerade and some half and half for my coffee. I really wanted to get some other items but I am low on cash because of my damn prescriptions. I still have two to get and can only afford one. I am hoping my cousin sends me my birthday card early so that I don’t run out of one before my next paycheck. Otherwise I will have to borrow money from my sis. I really need to find a part time job. When I visited my old workplace while at the hospital, they were begging me to come back. I really wish I could be back. I miss the place so much as much it annoyed me at times with the idiot phone calls we got. But I like my coworkers some of the time. I just can’t work right now, least not there, because I am still not able to walk long distances without pain. Which reminds me, I forgot to call my physiatrist today. Could have done that will all the waiting I was doing with my father. I am an idiot. Oh well, another call for Monday!

pissed off therapy session

by Midnight Demon, posted in bipolar, blogging, chronic physical pain, depression

Pissed off therapy session

I took a nap before my therapy session which probably wasn’t the brightest idea in the book but oh well. I usually wake up just before session but this time I overslept and woke up to the phone ringing. Rats! I really wasn’t looking forward to talking to her today, especially after what “didn’t” get talk about yesterday.

I told her I didn’t see the point in seeing her and she told me this was a “place to process things”. I laughed. Really? Because that hasn’t happened in ages!! She dropped the issue and I didn’t want to pursue it anymore as I could feel my anger rising. I seriously don’t think she has a fucking clue as to how I am doing anymore. We spent the majority of the conversation talking about how many spoons are going to be spent dealing with my father over the next few days. That is all she seems to want to talk about lately: Spoons. “Spoons” is another word for energy spent on stuff. I got it from a lady with Lupus and you can read the article here. I thought that paper she wrote was typical of all that I go through on a daily basis, from getting dressed, to taking a shower, to making breakfast, etc.

Lately my “spoon” supply has been low and I guess dealing with my therapist just drains it lately. By mid session, I am wanting out of talking with her. I can’t stand 50 minute sessions with her anymore. They are driving me crazy when I don’t feel like talking. And I don’t feel like talking not because there is nothing to talk about, but because I am tired of the way therapy is. I thought that after a while, I would find therapy helpful and insightful. That it would bring meaning to my life but those are just fantasies that never get fulfilled. Granted the last 10 years have been tough with my suicidality and such. But you would think by now she would be used to it and handle it better. She doesn’t and it just makes me shut down. I feel more alone with every passing session because the one person in the world that should know me, doesn’t. I kept thinking about the Mockingbid song my Rob Thomas. The lyrics are stunningly close to how I feel about therapy. The Chorus is right on target:

Everybody else is smiling
Man, their smiles don’t fade
You don’t even wonder why
You just don’t think that way

Maybe you and me got lost somewhere
We can’t move on and we can’t stay here
Maybe we’ve just had enough
Well, maybe we ain’t meant for this love

You and me tried everything
But still that mockingbird won’t sing
Man this life seems hard enough
Well, maybe we ain’t meant for this love

We have tried everything to keep this therapy going. Consults, different therapy avenues, etc. But they never seem to help. I might get a transference session in where I talk about what is wrong with everything but then the next session is like I didn’t speak at all. Things are back to status quo. It really pisses me off. Now I am just hounded by thoughts of whether I should be here or not and I am again alone in dealing with them because my bozo therapist is too anxious to hear what I have to say. She doesn’t listen and she just talks the talk in circles now. I am not asking her to cure me of my thoughts but not having a place for them is really hurting me. But I understand that therapists have their own shit to deal with. But I just once wish that my therapist of 14 years would take a Xanax and let me talk. Otherwise, I think I will just give up therapy once and for all as much as it pains to be even type these words. There is getting nothing out of it if you cannot share your inner most, darkest, thoughts.

I have been down this road with my therapist for some time. It is a well beaten path. I just wish she would restrain herself some and listen more to what I have to say than get all bent out of shape when I mention suicide, or being gone, or leaving therapy. A seasoned therapist should know how to do this by now and I shouldn’t have to write this blog to get the message across, yet again…

Who do you turn to when you have no one to turn to?

by Midnight Demon, posted in bipolar, chronic physical pain, depression, mental illness, psychology

I finally got out of the house today and went to Starbucks. It was a little rough getting there but I persevered. I wanted a latte and by dog gone it, I was going to get one! It wasn’t as sweet as I was hoping it was, but it did it’s job. And I got some writing done while I was cruising through Facebook and Twitter. It doesn’t make any sense right now, but I think I will work on it later tonight to see if I can make it make sense. It was like once I started writing I “threw up” and my brain couldn’t make sense of the thoughts anymore.

Back and bowels are having a fight as to who is going to win the pain shoot out. I almost lost control of my bowels twice since coming home. I fear that if I do, I will commit suicide. I am that vulnerable.

I tried to bring up my suicidal tendencies to my therapist today but she got all panicky so I dropped it. I could tell from her voice she was not going to be listening to me and just freaking out about losing me. I never felt so low as I did in that moment. I felt like I had no one to talk to about my ideas or frustrations to do with suicide. It’s just up to me to deal with, once again, on my own. I can’t talk to my pdoc, she is out of commission for a while. And the most she can offer me is a hospitalization. I don’t need to be hospitalized, least I don’t think I do. I just want to talk about what it would be like with me not in the world anymore to someone non-judgmental and criticizing. And also, not be freaked out by it. My therapist is a good therapist. She has kept me alive the past 10 years, some how, some way. But she still gets fucking juiced up and down right untalkable when I bring up suicide or feeling like ending my life. If I can’t talk about it in therapy, who can I turn to? Sure I have my blog, but last time I posted a post on being suicidal someone hunted me down to make sure I was ok and scared a few people in the process. I was lucky they didn’t call the cops. So now I am hesitant to put that on my blog for fear of being taken the wrong way. And if I don’t have my blog to vent to, what the hell is the point of writing this blog every day?? I have been keeping things neutral since that incident. I keep to myself and I hardly write in my journal anymore. Since being discharged from the hospital in August, I really have been questioning things. I am unhappy in therapy, with the process itself, and I am not sure after 15 years, it is going to change. I know my medication regiment is stable and doesn’t need to be played with. I guess I just miss talking with someone, and having intellectual discussions with people about psychology and suicide. I miss being in academia. I miss having the research tools at my finger tips. (Call me a geek!) But I no longer have that and that makes me depressed. I know that if I were in school and pursuing my passion, I might be feeling better but I can’t afford school. It just costs too much for a bachelor’s education and I don’t have the money. If I didn’t screw up my student loans, I would be going back to school now. It would give me routine and sociability with my fellow classmates. I sometimes feel like holding a cardboard box in the square and say “college tuition” just to see if I would get a response. Be a fun experiment, from the sociological viewpoint.

I have thought of passing this on to my therapist, but I figure why bother. She doesn’t “listen” anymore…