Tag: psychological pain

Dark Moments

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, chronic physical pain, mood disorders, suicidality, suicide attempt

Dark Moments

My psychiatrist called me tonight after the email that I sent her. Here is what I wrote:
“things aren’t any better. I feel like all I am doing is going round and round on a guinea pig wheel. I am so tired that I can’t stop. Fatigue has hit me hard and fear the demons might come out tonight. I just wish this would all end. I’m tired of fighting the same battle with the same result. Bozo is going on vacation soon, for two weeks. I plan on taking my life the first of the two weeks. I just feel like a failure if I don’t try. Course I might be a failure if I do. I haven’t been too successful in either department. I still am getting heaviness in my chest. It’s like this invisible weight comes out of no where, pushing me down. Sometimes I can’t breathe. It’s not like a panic or anxiety attack. It’s just psychache that is very heavy. I don’t know if I am making sense”.

She wanted to know if I would still be seeing her on Friday. I said yes and I will be sporting a new haircut. This is how psycho I am. I am talking about taking my life and yet I want to get a buzz cut. I feel really anxious and I know it has to do with her call because I am so nervous. If she didn’t get in touch with me, I would be sectioned right now. She really was concerned. I told her something just gets a hold of me and I just write these things. To me, they are just words on a computer screen. They don’t mean anything to me, but when someone reads them, it is cause for concern. I don’t understand it. I know Hyde is responsible for some if it. I know he has been out more. Whenever I am dealing with TG stuff, he comes out more. I don’t know if I will be in the hospital or not. I am hoping not because Hyde won’t come out. I don’t think I am in danger. I just write my dangerousness out. I don’t think I will act on it, as much as I really want to.

These dark moments really get to me, after the fact. While I am writing them, they feel normal and translucent. It’s like I am not really writing them. I vaguely remember them in the morning. This is the second time that my psych has called me after sending her a terrible email of my dark thoughts. I try not to send them to her because I know they are cause for concern but I just can’t seem to hold back. She wants to know how I am doing so I tell her, honestly and truthfully. I know I probably should hold off sending them to her but I always hit send instead of save. I don’t know if I wrote on my laptop or if I sent it by my phone. The phone is easier to hit send than save.

I just feel like I am wasting her time in her trying to save me. I am just so miserable. There are no medications that she can give me to ease my pain, my psychological pain. There are times I just want to overdose on everything that I have to ease this pain, this psychache. But I don’t do it because I don’t want my mother to find me like that. I need to really do something about this. But I don’t know what to do. How do you cope with demons?? These are more than just dark moments. They are pure suicidal moments and they might just kill me.

I just filled in, the best I could via text message, to my therapist. I told her to call me today. I really need her assurance I am not losing my mind. Or if I am losing my mind, what we are going to do about it. I really don’t think going in the hospital is gong to help me. It never does. It sometimes makes things worse because I get frustrated. I just don’t know what to do. I wish there was an easy answer but there isn’t.

Love/Hate Relationship with Therapy

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, depression, mood disorders, suicidality, suicide

Love/Hate Relationship with Therapy

There are times when I like my therapist. When she is supportive and understanding, it’s easy to like her. Sometimes the like turns to love because she means so much to me. It is at these times when I value our relationship the most. My therapist is very dear to me but then, like tonight, she will say something that makes me hate her. Mostly, this is around her not wanting me to kill myself. I feel trapped by this, and so the love I feel turns to hate. It is not a quick thing to happen. I don’t have oscillating feelings toward my therapist. It is only when I am suicidal and she wants me to live that I really hate her.

It wasn’t always this way. I never really knew how she felt about me till we were four years into our relationship. I call it a relationship for lack of a better word. In 2005, I was severely depressed and snapped. I wanted to die very badly and was planning on ending my life sometime that November. It was one of the lowest points in my life. When I finally confided in her what I was planning, which was not easy to do, she got really upset. I couldn’t bare to see her that upset. In fact, no one till that point in my life was ever upset with me for being suicidal. Her fear of losing me made her cry and I just could not tolerate it. I still cannot tolerate it. It messes with my head. Since then, the love/hate began. The love is just the kind that people have with one another. I told her I hated her tonight and she welcomed it. She said that I could hate her till eternity if it meant keeping me alive. But I don’t like hating someone that I really care for. It hurts me. It causes me mental anguish that drives me crazy. I can’t stay hateful for long. I’m not that type of person. And I do love her more than I hate her. She brings me joy and a little bit of hope every time we talk. I need these things or I will attempt to take my life.

I feel trapped by her love. To her, I can do no wrong. I am not a bad person in her eyes. I told her to read a blog that I wrote that I think is triggering to people. She doesn’t know where I came from, that I always think of others before myself. I write horribly dark, depressing things. But this piece of work is really troubling me. It’s extremely profound in darkness and depression. I want her to read it with a professional’s eye. I want her opinion from her psychologist’s mind, not her love for me. Yes, she loves me, too. It makes me uncomfortable at times. But it also makes me kind of feel unsafe. Because if I love her back and she loves me, that just opens a can of worms I don’t want to open. I don’t want to get hurt again by a therapist. I have been hurt ten times by former therapists and she is my last straw. I know that if we break up, it will kill me. After fourteen years together, it will be extremely hard to start over with someone new.

My suicidality has always been a gatekeeper. She feels that I should have more sessions because I am suicidal. More is sometimes not better. But she wants to know what is happening in my life all the time.

My psychiatrist I have known for more than twenty years. I feel closer to her than I do my therapist because of our long standing relationship. I sometimes think of my pdoc as a mother figure in my life. She is proud of me and my accomplishments, even though I never went to med school like we hoped. That is another story for another blog.

My pdoc is the best. She really gets me, sometimes better than my therapist. I don’t know if she loves me. I know she cares deeply about me. We have been through some tough times together. She is my rock. I know I do love her, but in a way a son love their mothers.

My therapist and I love each other as people do. We truly care for one another. I guess the same can be said about my pdoc, thought we have never discussed our feelings for one another. She is strictly professional in this regard, not to say my goofy therapist isn’t. There are boundaries. I respect both of my treaters. I don’t think I have ever hated my pdoc. The only time that I might have was when she sectioned me a few years ago after I sent her a dark email and she couldn’t get in touch with me. I knew it was out of concern for my safety but that doesn’t mean I had to like it.

My therapist has never sectioned me or made me go to the ER. My pdoc doc knows that I will usually take myself to the ER when I am in a dark place. My therapist will just tack on another session. My pdoc would do the same when I am at my worst points. Sometimes, I would see my pdoc weekly rather than biweekly because she was concerned about my safety. Both of these professionals know me pretty well. I have known them a long time and I am grateful they include me in their treatment plan rather than saying this is how it is going to be. That doesn’t work for me and they know it. I have to be in control of my treatment in order for it to work. And if this helps save a life, then so be it.

Did it Again

by Midnight Demon, posted in blogging, chronic physical pain, depression, suicide, transgender

Did it Again

Just got off the phone with a good friend of mine. We were talking and I came very close to telling him that I was trans but something stopped me. Then I go on Facebook and lo and behold I find out that Obama has appointed the first transgender woman to some position. I got thinking, where the hell are the trans men? Am I the only one coming out? Should I stay in the closet, so to speak? I am getting so fucking bullshit about this that the suicidal impulses are at an all time high right now. I still think killing myself is the way to go. I will die as a woman, which is what everyone thinks I am anyway so who is going to know?

I just feel like I am wasting my time thinking about ending my life. I know that I probably am not going to go through with it, but I just need it to be there. But here I go again, stuck in the pain and darkness at an hour that isn’t convenient to talk to anyone about how I am feeling so I am writing this stupid blog. Not that I would call anyone. I hate talking to people on the phone, except for my goofy therapist. I haven’t taken my meds yet for the night. I took some trilafon because my thoughts were getting out of hand. The cousin that I saw earlier today called while I was talking to my friend. Figures. I knew he was going to call me tonight. He wants me to call him but it’s too late and he just wants to talk bullshit things. I am tired of bullshit. I can never talk to him when I am like this. He just doesn’t understand or want to deal with the darkness I deal with. No one does.

I know things will be better in the morning, they usually are. But this agitation is unreal right now. I hate feeling this way. I know pain is going to hit sometime soon so I have taken my pain meds in anticipation. My foot is already swollen so its just a matter of fucking time. I was telling my friend about this and of course, all he said was wow. He got it though. He has a medical background. He couldn’t believe I was disabled but he understands. I don’t know why I am so aggravated. I hate being who I am right now. I realized tonight that if I didn’t have breasts, I would be called a man but people don’t look at your face anymore, they just look at your chest to determine gender. It’s sickening. I hate being this way. And if I have to live like this for much longer, I know I will end up in the grave. I was reading today somewhere that suicide isn’t a destiny. Apparently they don’t know me. They also said that people just want their pain to end. Yes, that would be nice but I still will have to deal with the depression, the physical pain, the mental pain, the disability, the you name its. Who wants to live that way? I don’t. I have had enough. So the plan that I put off is not back on the table. Maybe it will be off the table by morning but I doubt it. I want to be something I am not and it’s killing me slowly, every day.

Therapy Tuesday

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

Therapy Tuesday

I had therapy today, like I do every Tuesday. It started off with talking about my father’s appointment woes. I thought I had an appointment with his PCP this Thursday but apparently the incompetent staff forgot to put it in their calendar/scheduling. So there is no appointment this week. I am so pissed. Their next time that I can do is fucking June 30th. I have to wait another month to see this asshole. I hate this office so much. If I was still at my job, I would have found him someone at MGH so fast or at least put him on a waiting list for one. This is just ridiculous. So we discussed this in therapy for the first fifteen minutes. I was aggravated and needed to vent.

We then talked about my pain and other issues. I wanted to bring up some abuse issues but it was getting close to end of session and I don’t know where I will be tomorrow in the beginning of our session as I will be traveling home, I hope, if the bus gods agree with me. I have to finagle the bagel a little bit tomorrow. I want to get my haircut tomorrow before my psychiatrist’s appointment. My therapist inquired about what is on the agenda for tomorrow with her. I have no idea. I need a few refills and I need to pick up my prescriptions at my primary care office. I have such a busy morning tomorrow. I just hope that I fucking sleep well and not wake up at fricken 0400 like I did today. I won’t go back to sleep if I do because I will just be groggy and won’t remember all that I have to do. I should have just canceled my therapy appointment tomorrow. That would so make my life easier.

Then we talked about what I am working on with my writing. UGH, I hate this question more than being asked what my psychache is. It is because I usually don’t have anything that I am working on. This time I sort of am. I am writing a review on a research article. I am trying to make it interesting but now I am getting to the guts of the paper, like stats and stuff, that is important in a review. After I typed it all up, my brain spazzed and I lost interest. Then my perfectionism mixed in and I thought the paper was junk (what I was writing, not the article). I’m going to have to do this review in spurts when my brain isn’t so jumbled.

The last part of our conversation was about my friend that attempted suicide twice since I last talked with her. I feel really bad that she didn’t try to get in touch with me before she did it. I feel so helpless. But she did what she did and there is nothing I can do about it now but give her support as best I can.

My country radio station has an idiot DJ between 2-7. I really dislike him. He talks too much yet tries to be cool but fails miserably at it. I miss Steve Kelly and Keith Stephens. They were the evening crew and they were awesome at what they did. I was hoping I could get used to this jerk but I just can’t. I love the music so I just try and block him out while he talks.

I am feeling really depressed, which wasn’t discussed today. Sometimes I have a hard time telling my therapist this. It’s like I just don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to worry her more than what she is worrying. She did lose all my texts that I sent her. To make up for it, I have been texting her stupid shit, just quick updates on how I am doing and such.

It’s really hot in my room and I can’t stand it. And this is going to continue the rest of the week. I so want my AC in my room in the window but my foot is killing me. Just trying to move my toes is painful and it’s setting off panic attacks for me. It is the one thing that triggers PTSD for me. I feel like paging my psychiatrist but I am seeing her tomorrow. Most she will tell me is to take an Ativan. Heat is not helping me because it is annoying me, even though I have the ceiling fan on full blast. It is just moving the hot air in my room. I think I am going to cry. I am just so frustrated and I can’t go down the stairs to get anything. Hope I don’t have to go to the bathroom. I don’t think I can make the stairs. I just took a pain pill, though I don’t remember taking it. I could take another one in an hour or so. If I feel sleepy, so be it. Yesterday I had to take two pain pills and fell asleep around 1730. I woke up around 2130 to take my meds and then I stayed up till at least 0030. I remember writing in my journal around midnight and then feeling sleepy after a page or two of writing. Despite going to sleep so late, I still woke up at 0400. I hate waking up this early. I had coffee when I got up. I needed it. I should have waited until my mother left the house so I didn’t have to talk to anyone but I didn’t. Hate people trying to talk to me before I had my coffee. I don’t care what you have to say until I had at least a half cup of coffee in me. You would think my mother would know this by now but she is oblivious. To her, I am just grumpy and woke up on the wrong side of the bed. GGRRRR. So annoying!!