Tag: hopelessness

in a restless state of mind

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders

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.

Used to…

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders, suicide

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.

random psych shit and things

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders

Random psych shit and things

I had three hours sleep last night. I didn’t go to bed till 0730, woke up at 0930 and then again at 1030. I had to really get up at that hour because I had to be out of the house by the latest 1105 to catch the bus. Course I go downstairs, hoping to shave and my mother is in the bathroom wanting to wash up. Figures. I tell her I need to wash up and she says she will do so fast. She is never “fast.” I waited for her to get out. By that time it was around 1045 and I just brushed my teeth and got the eye crud out of my eyes by washing them. I couldn’t be bothered with the rest of my face. It would have to wait.

I had time to fiddle after using the bathroom, but not much. I got my clothes on before sitting on my bed. I tried to find a belt I could use for the pair of shorts I found in my drawer. They are a size 38, which after all the weight loss, I fit into again. I didn’t need to buy another pair of shorts as the size 42 is way too big on me. Not eating is not how I wanted to lose the weight but it happened so there isn’t much I can do except to keep it off, which I have and knew I would. I might have gained and lost the same three pounds the past few weeks but then I will drop 8 lbs the following week so I guess it evens out eventually.

I went to Starbucks and had my espresso. I had a new barista. I asked him for soy and all the baristas that I ever had have given me the container or a quart of it. This one pours a tall cup and hands it to me. WTF. I don’t care, I just want my fucking espresso. He was cheap with the ice so I just said fuck it. He looked to be a smartass anyway and I wasn’t in the mood to argue. I totally got my time messed up because around noon, I left for the station. It wasn’t until I was halfway to where I needed to be, I realized my appointment was at 1345. I was more than an hour early. Goddamn it. I went to the lobby of the building and just wrote in my journal. Then I washed out my reuseable cup and went upstairs. The therapist took me early. I was beyond tired by that point and wasn’t too chatty though I did try to have a conversation. The therapist kept on looking at her computer screen and then looked at me so fast I thought she was going to get whiplash. No idea what she was looking at. Somehow she asked me if I was in crisis or something and I said I don’t know, not right now. Could change in 24 hours, which it could. She said that wasn’t reassuring. Then she said “we need to monitor how you are and such.” I am thinking ok. Next thing I know she is telling me she is off next week and she will see me in two weeks. WTF seriously?? She didn’t offer a safety plan or who I was to call if I needed to talk to someone while she was away, nothing! I got pissed off. Because she took me early meant I would be home on time for my psych to call me.

I had just missed the bus when I got back to the Square. I had to wait a half hour for the next one. I just listened to my music. I tried to read Twitter but my eyes couldn’t focus and it was really difficult as the sunglasses I was wearing weren’t prescription. I have either thrown them out or they are somewhere hidden in my room. I won’t know until I try to find something else. Like today I was trying to find the key to my cash box and found my class ring instead. I thought I had lost it for good while I was working in the lab. I could have sworn it was in my lab coat that got thrown away. I am glad I was wrong. That made my day until my psych called me. We talked and then she said she had a question for me, would I be okay to see a psychiatrist they had assigned me. That psychiatrist contacted her and wanted her input before they contacted me. I then asked her ok until she sets up shop somewhere and when that would be. She said sometime in the fall. She then asked if I was okay with meds. I said I have one refill left on all of them so would be set for the next month, month and a half. And if I couldn’t see the guy, I would call her. I told her about the dissociation part of Monday/Tuesday night where I somehow scratched my wrist. There were a few marks. I have no idea what time it was, what it was with, or why I did it. I don’t even remember doing it. She said if it happened again to call her right away. My immediate thought was that could be a while as it took me all day to realize this when I emailed her around 2200 Tuesday night while waiting for the last survey for the study I am in to come through. I was going to sleep afterwards and I did until like 9 or 10 am. My psych said she would call me either tomorrow or Monday to let me know what the new guy said and what his availability is.

After the phone call, my heart dropped. I was completely hurting and heartbroken and angry. I almost had a meltdown but somehow prevented me from uncontrollable sobbing. Fall seems like forever right now even though, technically, it is only a few months away. She didn’t tell me where she would be. I didn’t ask. I was too stunned to know I was actually going to see a new psychiatrist after twenty-six years, least for a little while. She still wants me to keep her posted and stuff. I don’t think that will ever change. I’ve always have, even when she was away on vacation or out of the office or on medical leave. This week has been a blur and today just sucked totally. Once I knew I wasn’t going to fall apart, I made myself a cheeseburger, which my stomach is still not happy about, even though I liked it. It was really good. After I ate, I shaved my head and face. I got rid of the mustache as it was all uneven and hairs were longer in places than others. I looked in the mirror afterwards and I looked like I was 12. I sent the pic to my psych saying I was indeed 12, LOL. My face has slimmed up and with the facial hair gone, you can really see it. Losing around 25 pounds helps. I still can’t believe I lost that much weight in such a short period. My waist shows it though. I am not 100% sure it is the T giving me the loss of weight or the loss of appetite/not eating due to pain, or the combo. We may never know. All I hear is that people gain weight with T. I might be the exception.

Now I just wait for a stranger to call me or his secretary to schedule an appointment. Not sure if my psych is still wanting to keep tabs on me now or if she just wants me to keep her posted on things. I guess I will find out when she calls me.

got to keep tabs

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, Chronic pain, chronic physical pain, CRPS, depression, mood disorders

Got to keep tabs

Last night I was in a rough spot again. Pain had been bad yesterday, so bad that I dissociated on the way home. One minute I was at North Station and the next I am at the pharmacy. I have no recollection of how I got there. Pain was too intense I didn’t even have a number for it. All I know is I felt myself floating above me the whole time since leaving the brace eval to get my AFO adjusted. They adjustment felt good except the figure 8 strap that goes around my ankle to keep my foot in place. It is annoying the sensitivity I have in that area. Pain kept on going higher, I would dissociate, it would go down and I would be suicidal.

I sort of noticed a change with the way the pain happens. Intense pain would hit and I would become suicidal. Next time it hit, I would then plan on my escape because the pain was so unbearable and life was not worth living, at all. With this change, the urge to act is getting stronger. I realized last night it would be only a matter of time before the intense pain would hit and I would act on my urges if I had the means to do so. I had emailed my psych about the dissociation and how I either was going to pass out from pain and instead dissociated. I honestly have no idea how I got home, I wrote to her. Then to make me smile, the zoo I follow for giraffe pics showed the newest giraffe, Azizi, who turned four months old yesterday. She wrote back saying she didn’t know I liked giraffes.

Later that night, I thought I would reply to the email and then tell her the situation with the means and how close I am to acting on it when my pain is out of control. I have no real stop gap measure other than to email my doc like I have always done. Sometimes I will page her if I need to but I am not sure the pager is working and because most of the time this happens at night, I don’t want to call her late. I was hesitant in sending the email and I told her I would be meeting with the therapist today. I had no idea if I would be able to tell her this stuff. I get scared when talking to new therapists about my suicidality because some of them just don’t know how to deal with it and just send you to the ER. Around 2 am, and reading the email a fourth time, I sent it.

I didn’t have a response when I woke up so I figured she had read it but wouldn’t respond to it. I woke up late, like literally have to run out the door to catch the bus late. My bowel can always be counted on to stop the rush, which meant I couldn’t wash my face or brush my teeth. Seeing as yesterday I had somehow had a piece of shit stuck to me for hours I couldn’t fucking feel because of CES, I made sure I wiped good and pushed to make sure all the shit that was going to come out, did. Today turned into shit day as by the time I got to the bus stop, I was needing to go again. I wasn’t going to miss the bus because that would mean missing my appointment. There were no other buses coming for another hour which sucks. My stomach settled down a bit by the time I got my espresso. I didn’t have time to eat something. I got to the train station and had to go when I got to the hosp. I had a half hour before seeing the therapist so plenty of time to hopefully empty my bowels. Was not the case because by the time I got to the building where the therapist was at, I had to go again but there was no time. Luckily I was able to hold off the whole session without having to excuse myself.
The session went ok. We talked more about CBT and I showed her the book I wanted to lend her. She said her reading time was limited so she didn’t want to take the book. She asked what was specific in the book to work on and I said the CBT stuff was over my head as there was very little I knew about it other than the basics, which after 25 years, I barely remembered since psych 101. She explained and we went over things. I told her I needed a stop gap measure between the intense pain leading to suicidal thoughts that lead to planning and is leading up to acting. She had some coping stuff like putting an ice pack on the back of my neck. I could do that. I actually had that during one of my hospitalizations when I was in really bad shape. Somehow we discussed the crisis response plan that I have in nearly all my journals (only exception is the night journal I am currently. I don’t have it there because there is a strap and I am scared some idiot in the hosp, should I bring it, will treat it as a safety issue and take it away from me). She said this was good. I said yes it is but I need to be held accountable to actually using it because I can skip the steps and go right to crisis mode, which is calling my contact or my therapist/psych or even going to the emergency room. Plus, I don’t think I am ready for it as I get too overwhelmed to think about writing alternatives to my suicidal thoughts. I said the “stepping back” might work for me, which I have been trying. It hasn’t been easy but I try. She did say a lot of the stuff is going to be based on how much I do. Hence why I have avoided CBT for the longest time. I sort of want a quick fix and sometimes just talking about things is that fix except when I don’t get validated for what I say.

On my way to my appointment, my psych emailed me. When I was riding on the train, I got to read it. She said she wanted to talk and would call me in the late afternoon. I said that is fine as I should be home by then. She called a little after 1900. I gave her a brief update on things. Told her I have been having a hard time keeping up with my blog. She said that was okay as I didn’t write every day. I told her it is now more than that, like 4 days or so before I write. I told her I haven’t even been writing in my journal. I have stuff to write but nothing is coming out. She seemed kind of worried about this but didn’t say anything. I told her about the means and how I plan to have someone hold it for me. I just need to figure out logistics. She asked if we can talk next week. I said okay. That is when she said she needs to keep tabs on me, in her professional “motherly” voice. I said don’t you always?