Saturday Blog 3 Mar 18

Saturday Blog 3 Mar 18

I’ve had a crazy, painful day. I was up till about 3 and then woke up whenever my med alarm went off, took my BP pill, and went back to sleep for about another 2 hours. I made breakfast and was feeling down and blah. I had sent my psychiatrist an email telling her how much despair I was feeling because pain was interfering with my sleep so much lately. I was so tired of being turned down by doctors to help treat my pain, including my own PCP. I haven’t received a response. I also sent my friend an email, though I don’t recall what it was about. I just called it “just venting”. I haven’t read her response yet. I had made coffee after I made my breakfast and as I was drinking it, I wrote this on Facebook:

I hope that my posting pics of making this or that doesn’t negatively affect me in some way. Don’t get me wrong, as much as I love to cook, it comes with a price. Last night making the ribs and tots cost me some serious pain. I didn’t get to sleep till 3 am. I am grumpy today and my mother wants me to go to Market Basket for some cheese cuz today is the last day of the sale. I’ll be going by bus, which is gonna cost me some spoons. I still need to shower as it has been almost a week. People with chronic illness have to take each activity slowly. Making breakfast might cost me that shower. Going to the grocery store might cause me to lose sleep again. It is a guessing game with this blasted chronic pain. It takes it toll. Last night I was swimming with despair and emailed my psychiatrist some choices need to be made. If not, well, I might not be anymore. I’ve had enough.
I’m going to drink my well made Starbucks coffee and ponder things. Just hope the little activity I’ve done so far can let me shower. 4 spoons left…

I took the shower and did okay. The laundry hamper was getting full so I decided to have my jeans washed. I went upstairs to change so I could catch the 1245 bus. I found a pair of Khaki jeans that I haven’t worn in quite some time. I kind of forgot about them as they were in my clean clothes pile, lying at the bottom. I thought they were shorts until I pulled them out. Then I remembered why I haven’t worn them in a while. The waist was tight. I am sure the cookies I had with my coffee did me no favors. I put things in the pockets and put some pain pills in my pocket pill container. I had run out on Wednesday when I went out last. I meant to put some more in but forgot, which sucked when I flared at my psychiatrist’s office.

I went to the bus stop and waited. And waited. And waited some more. The bus never came and I froze as it was still windy and cold. I caught another bus to where I had to catch the bus I needed for the grocery store. I thought I missed it, but it was late. Thank god. I didn’t want to wait another half hour in the cold. The grocery store was kind of typical. Crowded for a Saturday, which is usual. I wanted to get the produce my mother wanted but they had all the registers open and I couldn’t sneak by, which meant I had to go around. So I grabbed the cheese my sister wanted and then went to deli for the cheese my mother wanted. I stood longer than I should have because I had a new guy. I don’t know if he was being trained or what as the other two people working there were telling him what to do. I got what I needed then went to produce. I had a hard time knowing where things were. I finally found where the spinach and green beans were then went to the lines. I got in the express lane as I only had a few items. The total went to $65 and I was like what? The cashier was like what was $33 dollars, and I told him nothing should be that much. He showed me the description and the new deli person was charging me $33 for a quarter pound of salami! WTF!! I told him I didn’t want it because I didn’t want to go back to the deli. I just wanted out of the store. My back and ankle were murderous.

As this was the first time going to this grocery store by T, I didn’t know where the bus stop was. I quickly scanned when I crossed the street and found it. When I got there, I checked the bus schedule and one was leaving the station soon. I was going to go back to my original destination when my sister called me when I was near the Square. She said she would pick me up because she needed the cheese now. Okay! Came home and told her the story of the salami. She couldn’t believe it. I told my mother and she laughed. She asked if I did get her the salami and I said no, I didn’t want to go back to the deli. My sister was almost done cooking the lasagna. I was glad because I was cooked! I was so tired and in pain. I really didn’t want to go back down stairs but I was hungry as I didn’t have lunch.

I just came back to my room now. I was chatting with my sisters and my niece. It was a pleasant meal, even though I was in pain. I found out my sister loves Ed Sheeran. She was playing some of his music and she was like don’t you know his music. There is only 2 songs of his that I like, 3 if you count his current song, Pleasant Symphony, which I had her turn off because it was going to make me cry. His voice is just amazing.

Want to go home

Today has been difficult.  I’ve had pain all day, sometimes excruciating and other times tolerable. I worried my morning contact person because the plan I took off the table, I put back on. It is staying on for now. I’m in a don’t give a shit mood. I’m tired of being in horrible pain. I haven’t done much yet I hurt so bad.

I really just want to die. I won’t do anything while I am here. I am kind of nervous about tomorrow and meeting with Bonnie (not her real name). I don’t think from here on out I’m going to be helped. It doesn’t help that I feel so hopeless that things will get better. My support group has been doing what they can for me but I feel like I shouldn’t share too much of my depression for fear of bringing people down.

I’ve been reading the Harry Potter and the cursed child for most of the day. I read it before taking my meds and I was in the wizard world for a while. Then I came back to reality and I didn’t like it. I really didn’t think I would like this book but I am, even though it doesn’t have too much description like a normal book does. It is mostly script with few descriptions of the scene. I know if it was written like a book it would be at least a thousand pages, minimum. But I am enjoying myself with it while I try to escape the pain and boredom of this place. I wish I brought my Kindle. Maybe I’ll ask my sister to bring it to me. A fellow patient who is being discharged tomorrow gave me some candy and tea. I was out of my regular tea as I didn’t think to pack it. All I have left is chamomile tea. I had two cups of Lipton today. It gave me the caffeine I needed. The coffee is wicked terrible so I don’t drink it.

My cousin said some things on Facebook that really got under my skin. I replied just as callous back. If he can’t understand my mental illness or physical pain, Fuck him. I’m not going to placate him. He could have said sorry to miss seeing you rather than he was disappointed. His choice of words, not mine. I’m tired of being judged by small minded people.

I have been sitting on my bed the last few hours. My tailbone hurts. Now it’s raining out so my spine is hurting. It was hot in my room so I had staff open my other window. Least it will get the air circulating. I really cannot stand heat. I miss my ceiling fan. The temp today has gone from 49 degrees to 60, which is kind of odd for Nov. I was freezing this morning but the heat seems to have kicked on high for some reason. Staff just looked at the controls for my room and it’s on cool so I don’t know what the fuck is going on. It is an old building so it does weird things.

I took another dose of Miralax for my bowels. I finally went though I still feel bloated. I’ve been trying to keep up with fluids because I woke up with a sore throat but that just made the feeling of being bloated worse. I am hoping all the food I ate gets digested by tomorrow. I hate this feeling of being full when I didn’t overeat. I know the strong pain pill is causing my bowels to be backed up but there is nothing I can do about it. I need it to help my pain as I can’t take it like I do at home. 

I’m hoping tomorrow I have a better sense of when I will be going home. I really want to leave. Being here is just solidifying my planning. It is going to be tough because no a whole lot of “work” has been done since I have been here. I have been doing the PT stuff because it is easier to remember to do. Imagery has been ok but I only get so far before I wander off. The depression makes it hard to really focus on anything. 

No Breeze Stirs this Cauldron

“What I had begun to discover is that, mysteriously and in ways that are totally remote from normal experience, the grey drizzle of horror induced by depression takes on the quality of physical pain. But it is not an immediately identifiable pain, like that of a broken limb. It may be more accurate to say that despair, owing to some evil trick played upon the sick brain by the inhabiting psyche, comes to resemble the diabolical discomfort of being imprisoned in a fiercely overheated room. And because no breeze stirs this cauldron, because there is no escape from the smothering confinement, it is natural that the victim begins to think ceaselessly of oblivion”
― William Styron, Darkness Visible: A Memoir of Madness

The crash has started. I am once again thinking of quote that I hold dear to me when I am in a despair like state. I just emailed my psychiatrist telling her I am in despair but I am not quite suicidal. I can’t sleep because of pain and the pain meds have not kicked in yet. But the pain I am feeling now, is a different type of pain. It is psychache and there are no pain pills for that ache. My heart feels like it has been broken into a thousand pieces. I feel like I am being suffocated by this weight on my chest. Like Styron says, “there is no escape from the smothering confinement, it is natural the victim begins to think ceaseless of oblivion”. Except, I am not there yet. I am close to thinking of my oblivion but I think if I start thinking about it, I will act.

I started vacuuming my room a little bit at a time. I bought a hand held vacuum. I thought it was cordless but it is corded. No matter, it still does its job. Too bad it hurts me in the process. I can’t stand for too long before my hip goes out. It is this pain that I am feeling that the pain meds aren’t helping at the moment. They will soon, I hope. It is past midnight. I hate staying up this late because it can only lead to Hyde coming out when I am in this despair. I got to find my “Touched With Fire” book. It, I think, has the quote by Hugo Wolf about the heart being broken into a thousand pieces. I thought it was Byron but it’s not. I would like to have this quote on my quote page. I think it will be a nice addition.

I wasn’t expecting to crash this soon. I thought I would have a few days of “normal” before I headed to psychache land. I started writing in my journal. Five pages later, I got an idea for my next blog on “no-suicide” contracts. What got me thinking about this was that if I didn’t find the “Crisis Response Plan” how different my treatment would be with my therapist. No-harm or No suicide contract are stupid and have no validity. They are not even a legal contract in the eyes of the law (to the best of my knowledge) yet are used over and over again. Meds are kicking in so I can’t quite explain more as it is complicated.

I found the quote from Wolf, it is “I appear at times merry and in good heart, talk too before others quite reasonably, and it looks as if felt too. God knows how well within my skin yet the soul maintains it deathly sleep and the heart bleeds from a thousand wounds”. That is how I feel right now. I feel like I am faking being happy yet I so am falling apart and no one can see it. I feel utterly alone.

Earlier tonight, I was feeling fine. I don’t know what caused the downfall to occur. I was just writing in my journal and thought about writing this no contract paper and then I suddenly felt really sad. I got a notepad that has another quote on it, “people do not die by suicide, they die by sadness”. Anonymous

I think that is true. I have real sadness. Dark sadness that won’t leave me. It is like black storm clouds following me. And it came on just with the snap of your fingers. I wish I could snap my fingers again and have them leave. I am hungry. Maybe this sadness is caused by low blood sugar. I only had one thing to eat today, a half of roast beef club sandwich. I couldn’t finish the rest of the sandwich. It was too filling. I should have saved it but it was soggy and I had soggy sandwiches. Now I am hungry and want something to eat. Maybe I will have a pop tart. I don’t know. It’s getting later and later. I really just want to sleep. The hell with eating.

a painful night

Right now my left foot is on fire and there is no calming it down. I think I did too much when I made my chicken wings today. God forbid I should make a meal. It really sucks when you want to make something other than a bologna sandwich for dinner. That is why I eat out so much. It’s so I don’t have to cook.

A friend has told me to write when I am in pain so that is what I am doing…not to say it is helping me with the pain any but it is making me tired that I want to sleep…

I am to see my psychiatrist in twelve hours from now. I am afraid to see her because I have not told her about my pseudo suicide attempt last week. I keep thinking it was months ago but in actually, it was only ten days ago.  I am afraid that if I tell her I might get put into the hospital for it. The crisis has passed. I have not felt suicidal since that night, well, not really felt like acting on it since that night. It is a curious thing. I will share things with my therapist more than I will my psychiatrist. I know it is because I talk with my therapist more than my psych. Don’t get me wrong, the relationship I have with my psych is longer than my therapist. I have seen the same psychiatrist since I was seventeen. I am coming up on our twenty year anniversary. I can’t believe how far I have come and that I am still alive. I know it is because of her care that I am still here. I think most psychiatrists would have dumped me a long time ago but for whatever reason she stuck by me and I by her.

I have not processed my feelings about this last suicide attempt. I cannot believe I threw out the window all my safety plans. It is easier said than done to call someone when you want to down a bottle of pills. I think that there is no telling what might have happened that night had I been able to walk the three feet, 3, stinking feet to my bureau to get more pills. Not being able to walk three feet is what saved my life. Three feet. That is how close I was to taking a whole bottle of pills. My therapist is grateful for this. I am sure my friends are. I have been in a weird state since this has happened. I have been neither depressed nor euphoric nor anything since that night. I have become numb. And I am not sure if that is a good thing or a bad thing. This is the first time I really want to document what I am going through because I know there might be someone in similar circumstances. Pain is awful but that night I was so full of despair and hopelessness, my mood changed on a dime and the demons came out rearing their ugly heads. I remember just this feeling of panic since that night. This overwhelming desire to get away from myself, the overwhelming pain knocking whatever senses I had out of commission and wanting to just die. Both of my feet were useless. Both of my feet were in agony. I couldn’t straighten out my legs. I couldn’t let the sheet touch my feet. It was awful, so truly awful not being able to do a damn thing but lie in agony and knowing that my meds were just a few feet away and my misery could have ended once and for all. But no, I could barely stand long enough to gulp down two of my night pills. So I skipped my dose of some of my other meds. What did that matter when all I could think about was death. After I took my meds I waited an eternity to pass out. Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen, then twenty. I felt like nothing was going to work that night. My feet seized in spasms again and all I saw was blackness filling me way deep inside such that I have never felt before. I had to do something. I had to get this demon out. I had to end my life. But I could not get up and walk the three stinking feet to do so. Moving my legs was agony. If I really tried I could have but then I would be in big trouble. I might not be here today writing this.