Tag: therapist

Random 710

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

My therapist was wicked talkative today. I don’t know what got into her. She just was very inquisitive today. It made the session go by fast. We talked about a situation I am in with a certain person. I don’t know how to handle it. My therapist prefers that I don’t but I fear the longer I don’t have contact with this person, the worse it will be. I had to laugh because she kept on saying stuff that indicated stigma. I wanted to bring it out to her so I might give her the blog with what she was saying. She also was asking when will I be mailing her the letter I wrote and I blanked out on her. I totally forgot about the abuse letter I wrote the other night. I might work on it tonight and then mail it out tomorrow. That will be next week’s topic.

I figured out why the Otterbox didn’t fit my phone. It’s the wrong one and because I have had it so long, I can’t return it. So I am trying to sell it. If anyone needs an Otterbox for an S5 ACTIVE phone, let me know. I really should read when I buy things. Now I don’t have a case for my phone. I am tempted to use the box until I sell it but it is such a pain getting the phone in and out of the case! I am not going out today but might tomorrow. I will have to use it to protect it. I finally transferred my ringtones to my phone. My therapist’s ring is now the old one instead of the generic one I had. The sad part is that I don’t have my Star Trek tones in the folder. I am going to have to download the app again to get it. It annoys my mother when the communicator beep goes off for my text messages.

It’s a really damp and cold day out. You would think June would be warm but it’s fucking cold! I like it but it makes me sleepy and want to go back under the covers to get warm. Like predicted, I am sore as all hell from the 2 mile walk I took yesterday. My back, hip, and calves are hurting me. I have been resting most of the day, except to go down to the cold kitchen to make something to eat. My kitchen doesn’t have good installation so it gets really cold in cold weather. You might as well be outside.

I had a bowel attack while I was having therapy today. It was not fun. I don’t understand why, as I had already gone like an hour or two before. I think even though I have seen my therapist for years, I still get nervous talking to her and that brings about a bowel attack. Luckily, I didn’t lose it. I don’t know how, probably because the stools were hard. That has been my saving grace. Got to love CES, Cauda Equina Syndrome. NOT.

I’m still in a depression so have decided to stay off of FB as much as possible. I left a status saying that I will be on Twitter if anyone cares. Some of my friends are on Twitter so I know they will talk to me if they need me. I am just tired of the idiotic postings on FB. Especially of the poor dog that had tape around his muzzle. That really disgusted me. I had to remove the post. I don’t understand why people have to post things like that. There are very few things that get me but posting a sick baby with tubes all over him/her is one of the creepiest pics. Okay, we get your kid is sick. No need to post it to the internet, because I will just gloss over it and keep scrolling. Or report if for gross content. There were some porn covers from books that I had to report to remove them. You wants to see a couple having sex on the cover is just gross. I will not buy that book. Not like I am into that thing anyway. I am too much of a nerd to be interested in that kind of erotica. Speaking of books, I just realized, I haven’t gotten my latest shipment. I gave away my last book so needed more so I could send it to my former therapist.

Today would have been my parents 43rd wedding anniversary. They have been divorced for at least 20 years. I don’t know why it still bothers me but it does. I understand that it had to happen. It is one of the main reasons why I started going to therapy. Tomorrow is my favorite Uncle’s birthday. He would have been 101. I miss him very much.

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!!

Brick Walls

by Midnight Demon, posted in Bipolar Disorder, blogging, depression, mental disorders, mental illness, mood disorders, psychache, suicidality

7-Aug-14 Brick Walls

I am currently on a psychiatric unit in a hospital. I’ve been here for a week now, with no hope of getting out anytime soon. I am here because I am profoundly suicidal. All I see are brick walls surrounding me and they keep on closing in on me. It’s like a prison that only I can see. I am surrounded by these bricks and no one cares how high they get. And they certainly don’t care how they got there.

I want to take my life because I am stuck, just like these brick walls. The cement has hardened each brick into place so you cannot move it. My thoughts of suicide have also hardened to the point where they don’t budge. I feel very hopeless that this hospitalization will not help detach one of these bricks so that I make break free of the confinement I feel. If enough bricks fall, I may see the light at the end of the tunnel. But I doubt that will happen. I never see the light for long. I am always in a dark place. I am always feeling hopeless. And hopelessness and suicidal thoughts are not a good combination. They seal the cement and lock me in to this confinement that I am in.

The doctor and staff are trying their best to keep hope alive for me, but I just don’t see it. All I see is the brick wall that is impenetrable. Nothing or nobody can get through it or to me. It will take more than a jack hammer or two to get through to me right now. And it seems that no one owns one. The staff is too busy to care about the bricks. They just want the cement to fall to force me to see the light as the bricks become loose. Just so they can discharge me. They don’t care how the bricks were formed. And this hurts because no one takes the time to see how much I am hurting like they used to.

I have been trying to stay in the moment but my moments are just filled with suicidal thoughts and feelings. They are also filled with plans on how to end my life. Each thought makes the brick wall stronger so no one can breakthrough. Each brick has been mounted with feelings of inadequacy, shame, indignity, depression, hopelessness, worthlessness, and unbearable pain. Pain is the biggest brick. It lies in the center surrounded by the other bricks that I just mentioned. It exceeds all others in thickness and size. It is killing me, literally and physically, to be in unbearable pain all the time. The pain stems from just left of the sternum of the chest wall and captivates the entire left side of the chest cavity. It is a pressure felt day in and day out. In essence, it is like a ton of bricks weighing on my heart.

As the cement hardens around the brick, making it so difficult to breathe, the pressure on the chest increases. No medical tests exists to identify this weight. It’s not visibly present. That makes it difficult to explain without the feeling of sounding crazy. Who is going to believe a suicidal person that there is a weight on the chest when no one can see or feel it? It is not measured by tests or electrocardiograms. It is just a heaviness that fills your soul. And the soul cannot be seen or felt. Nor can it be measured. No one’s pain is the same. Each is unique to that individual. And my pain is what is strangling me in this moment of time.

The pain is always present in times of despair. It ruins any hope one might have and increases the weight of the bricks bearing down on you. Nothing alleviates this pain. There are no pills that can ease the pressure or painful despair. It’s ever present and deepens the despair because no one understands it. All the symptoms of depression and suicidal thinking makes it very difficult to treat. And the longer it lasts, the higher the brick wall is built. Will the doctors and social workers have what it takes to help bring down the brick and mortar? Very unlikely. They don’t have the time to really get to know me, much less help me. I have resigned myself to stay within these brick walls until they envelope me so I can no longer breathe. Each day they move closer, causing me to feel more isolated and the feeling of suffocation grows stronger. Love doesn’t have any effect on these walls that have surrounded my heart. My heart has become stone a long time ago. Only negative feelings are allowed to pass through. I have given up on positive feelings ever passing through my little barricade. It took years for the brick wall to be built. It might take years to be torn down. But the suicide demons won’t allow that. This time the brick walls will win. I no longer have the energy to chisel my way out of my own prison. But then, I am in a psych ward where chisels are not allowed. You just expected to go to groups to cope with the demons rather than allow them to fall.

And because no one knows the depth of my prison, I am here for a long time, in solitary confinement. The walls are dark and gray, just the way that I feel inside. I doubt I would ever get parole from this darkness that fills my soul. If I do, it is only for a short time before I am back in solitary. The light barely has a chance to touch me before everything becomes dark again. That is why I don’t trust happiness or feeling good. I much rather be content about things than feel happiness. Happiness, to me, is a fleeting emotion that is hard to hold onto. It is slippery like silk, never lasting more than a few minutes and devastating when it leaves you.

So I sit here in my room, surrounded by darkness so the sunlight won’t come in, staring at the brick wall and it staring back, trapped in my own prison.

Goodbye, Jack

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

Goodbye, Jack

Since very early this morning, I have been playing my game like crazy to get as many missions done as possible. Only to find, that it is impossible to finish all the missions. I am going to miss this game. I don’t know what I am going to do tomorrow evening to wind down. I have a busy morning but when I come home, there isn’t going to be a game waiting for me to tend to crops and animals. It is going to be so weird. I still am thinking about getting off of Facebook for a while. I can already see that there is just going to be more bullshit photos of sayings and prayers. I have been slowly unfriending my gamer friends so they are not in my feed and my real friends are there. There is one gamer that has baby goats and like to post their pics. I could care less.

I had an interesting session with my therapist. I told her I was a nobody and for some reason, that triggered her into crying. She said it had to do with my self-regard. I don’t know why she took it personally. It is how I feel, a nothing, a nobody. Then I felt bad that she cried. But then, I have no idea the effect I have on people. It all started when I was telling her I don’t matter and the winner of the writing contest keeps coming up. It just hurts me that I didn’t win or even get a thank you for entering but sorry you didn’t win. I was one of 100 people that entered the contest. Surely they could have sent out sorry letters/emails. I just hate it when she says I contribute and I am wondering what the hell I am contributing to, exactly? It isn’t toward an academic journal or research lab. It isn’t even on the social media presence on Twitter. Hell, I tweet all the time and only 0.01 percent of the time, I get a response. So how am I contributing??

I entered another AAS contest, though I think I am wasting my money. I never win, but if you don’t play, you can’t win so I paid the money for the raffle and I will know June 2nd if I won. It’s an all inclusive package to Chicago for the 2016 annual conference. If I don’t win, I am never entering anymore contests from the AAS. I can’t be wasting money that can be used elsewhere.

My therapist was a real pita today. In addition to making her cry, she was just all in my business. I swear I was going to hang up on her if she told me one more positive thing about myself. I just couldn’t stand it. It’s one thing to hear it from time to time, but the last three days has been overwhelming me. It really is hard for the good stuff to sink in and I felt like she was hammering me with it. I understand that today I was going to end my life but now, I am not. And I really don’t know how I feel about that. Sure, I feel like a failure. But the last few days, I have been thinking about the people that would miss me and if I wasn’t here anymore. My online friends won’t know that I am gone. Who will be there to tell them? If they aren’t friends with my sisters, I doubt the message would go out. And what about Twitter? My sisters don’t know how to use Twitter so there will be a loss there. Just weird thoughts that I have been thinking about lately. And Julie Cerel’s number of 115 affected by one suicide keeps ringing in my head. That is the average number of people that will be affected by someone’s suicide. She doesn’t know where Shneidman got the number six, but it is way more than that. Hell, my mother’s side is just over 60 people, maybe more. My father’s side is smaller, more like 25 tops. And that is just my family, not including my friends, either at work or school or wherever.

My therapist wants me to make a nest. Of what exactly, I am not sure. The things she was naming to put in it sounded more like a hope box than a nest. When I brought that up to her, she was confused, or at least sounded like it. I might have interrupted her train of thought, which was sort of the point. I had told her what my psychiatrist said to me on my last visit to her. She called me, of all the people in her life, her role model. How the hell am I suppose to kill myself knowing these people take me so seriously and lovingly? I don’t know if it is a guilt trip but it sure feels that way. And I guess if they have their way, I am the one that continues to hurt, not them. But their affection towards me keeps me hanging on, even if it is for one more day.