Tag: psychache

feeling shaky

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

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…

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.

heartbreaking day

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

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?

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.