midnight ponderings

Midnight ponderings

Tuesday night was very difficult for me. I was in a lot of pain and processing stuff that went on in my appointment with the urologist. I was feeling pretty depressed that self-cath is now present in my life and will continue to be for some time. Then I got into an argument with my family that night and my mood went from sour to suicidal quick. I planned on taking my life after I saw my therapist today. I brought the stuff with me as well as getting some stuff ready in case it didn’t work and I was put in the hospital. I packed a light bag and left for the bus stop.

I am not a morning person. I just remember traveling on the bus and then picking up my coffee with a little time to kill before I had to board the train to get to the therapist’s office. I was not all present while meeting with the therapist. I kept zoning out, partly because I was so suicidal. She asked me if I was going to act on it and I must have indicated that I was. Then she asked, twice, if I had ginger on me. Things at that point became fuzzy. I know I went into my bag to get the ginger to give it to her and then everything else was sort of a blur. She said that I would have to be evaluated and be inpatient. She had to call security to take me to the ED as she didn’t think she could trust me. We talked about baseball while we waited. I have no idea why I told her I was going to end my life and that I had the stuff with me to do it. I honestly am so fucking mad at myself for doing something so stupid.

The ED didn’t think I had enough intent to be inpatient so they offered partial hospital which I am supposed to start in six hours. Guess what, it isn’t going to happen. I would have to leave my hour in about four hours to get to where I needed to be. I honestly have no idea how to get there by T. I am just going to skip the appointment and hope that police don’t show up at my door. Therapist will be mad but I don’t care. I left the ED after five hours. I hope to god it is my last visit there this year. I hate the ED.

Soon after I left, my psych emailed me asking if I was ok. I thought that was odd. I answered it right away without thinking. I never got a response. I just sent her an email a couple of hours ago telling her I have another bladder infection and this time I am not taking the antibiotics. I am already feeling crappy physically. I know it is only going to get worse. My blood count is up from the last time I had my CBC drawn. It is only going to be a matter of time before the infection hits my blood stream. I am banking on this and it causes me to die.

The NP psychopharm I see foolishly put that I have borderline personality disorder as my “issue”. I don’t meet the criteria so I have no idea what she is basing this on. If she is basing it on past history, I still have no idea how that is relevant today! Just pisses me off because once those things are there, they cannot be removed. Just like the “female to male transgender person” “issue”. I don’t have an issue being FTM and I honestly still have no idea why the fuck the computer system would put that on. It just makes me so damn mad.

When I came home, my ankle exploded. It kind of went off a little bit while in the ED but soon as my foot was resting, it exploded and I have been in pain since. I have tried different meds and now it is just a waiting game as to when exhaustion will hit and I will collapse. I took the “substitute” anxiety pill so I will be knocked out the next few days, just on one fucking pill. I take this med sparingly because I don’t like it at all. I meant to tell her today about it but I forgot. The NP came by the ED to talk to me. She thinks I am seeing her next week but it is the week after. I can’t see her next week and I sure as hell am not seeing the therapist. I am mad as hell at her for wasting my time in the ED.

I need to shower sometime later today. I sweat so much yesterday it wasn’t funny. I was drenched. It was fairly warm and I was over dressed. My hair feels so yucky and the NP that told me I had a bladder infection wants me to take a shower after every bowel movement. In a perfect world, that might be doable but for someone with chronic pain, it is very exhausting. I haven’t showered since the weekend, so almost a week now. I just can’t motivate myself enough to do it. The therapist changed my diagnosis to recurrent major depression with psychotic features. I was thinking it was treatment resistant depression. The psych NP has persistent depressive disorder, which I didn’t even know existed. Either case, I am depressed. I am not bipolar anymore or maybe I never was.

Over the weekend, I sent my psych a pic of me smirking because I felt “devilish”. I told her I had met my aunt and said how she was doing as she is not going to be around much longer. She stopped eating two weeks ago so her time here is coming to an end. I am sad about this. I also gave a description about how my care has been going in her (my psych’s) absence. My psych responded that I wrote elegant and eloquent. And this is why I miss her so much. She values my writing where the other two women in my team do not. They don’t even see my writing as a tool to help me get better. And you know why they don’t know of this? Because they don’t ask! Maybe I did tell them I am a blogger but they don’t want me to do solitary things. Writing is solitary; you can’t get it done otherwise. But it is meant to be shared. And that is what brings me joy, or used to anyways. I am fighting the urge not to write as I am typing this because I think my words have no meaning anymore. A few of my readers have “fact checked” that for me and it is false. I have to try and keep this voice going as much as it is paining me right now because if I don’t, I fear I will lose myself in a way that I am not sure I can ever come back from. I have comeback from so many things. I am not sure I can come back if I get away from my writing. It is so very important to me even if I story tell about my day and how it went down. I think it is boring but maybe someone else finds it interesting. I don’t know. I want to thank YOU my readers for not allowing me to stop my writing. I now right now it is infrequent but I am working on changing that Because of YOU. You mean a lot to me because without you, there would be no blog. So thank you. I hope you are sleeping as it is almost 0300 EST. Take care until we meet again.

in the abyss with the black dog

In the abyss with the black dog

Past few days have not been easy. Wed I got the cath taken out and was shown how to self-cath. To my relief, I am able to void on my own a few times a day but not all the time. It also takes a while for me to go and I can’t force the pee to come out. If it doesn’t after more than a few minutes, then I have to cath. It hasn’t been easy as I keep waking up at 0300 every night to pee, even if I don’t have the urge. I did last night and I wasn’t over the toilet so I basically peed on my underwear. I had a really full bladder as soon as the cath was in, urine was flying everywhere. I cleaned up and was upset about it. I had a hard time going back to sleep.

Also on Wed, I emailed my psych about should I call her if I am in a crisis. She said I should call the people I am working with now. I felt, and still feel, abandoned by her telling me this. In her reply, she asked if we had done a safety plan. I ignored the question. Earlier tonight as I was trying to write this blog, I sent her the blog I wrote Tues that describes everything that went on and how miserable I felt. I had texted the therapist yesterday saying I was having a hard time and was planning to end things soon again. All she wanted to know was if I was safe this weekend. I give up trying to tell her how I feel and how suicidal I am. Now I am truly alone as I don’t really have any mental health professional to call when I am in crisis, aside from going to the emergency room.

I was able to go to the grocery store today and make a dinner. I made my chili cornbread casserole dish I like. I made it really spicy. It is so good. Will be even better tomorrow. I will give whatever is left over to my barber as he loves the dish. He isn’t working Monday but he will Tues. I have to be in the Square anyway as I got to go see my TG doc. It is just a follow up. I sent her an email last week telling to please don’t say anything about my weight. I have been having issues around it and feel like if she tells me to lose more weight, it will just feed into my not eating. There already have been a few days where I have not eaten anything all day. I haven’t weighed myself but will tomorrow morning when I get up, provided I get some sleep tonight. My foot has been throbbing since yesterday at 0400 because of a storm that is passing through. It is really driving me crazy and I just can’t seem to get comfortable with it, even if I have it on a pillow. It is really bringing me down as well as trying to keep track of the times in between urinating. I am supposed to cath four times a day so that means roughly every six hours. With me not having any urge to go, I need to keep track of the time before I get too full. I also need to keep track of how much I drink. Just so much shit to keep track of. I thought keeping track of my bowels was hard, and it still is. I have been really constipated since this new urinary issue. I think it is because I no longer sit on the toilet so much and the muscles aren’t being used like they once were. I restarted taking the fiber pills. I have to be careful with them because one time I took too many and they made me sick. I had really bad gas pains. It was terrible. I think it was because I didn’t drink enough fluid after I took them. I always make sure I drink at least 4-5 ounces of fluid after I take them.

All week, I have been feeling kind of sick. I have been having chills and my head has been feeling like it weighs a ton. I have been so lethargic it isn’t funny. It could just be because of the infection that I had. I am feeling better today but there have been a few times where I thought I was just going to doze off again. I kept checking my temp but it was normal. My blood pressure was low as well as my pulse. I might have just been dehydrated. I have been fighting sleep the past few hours but I wanted to write a blog. I just been having trouble finding my words lately. I have so much to say, I just don’t know how to say it. I get tied up in the language. Throw in the haze of gabapentin and it is really hard to concentrate. But I am writing now and that is all that counts. Whether or not it makes sense, that is up to you, my readers.

Used to…

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.

On and On it Goes

On and On it Goes

There has been a Mary Chapin Carpenter song that keeps going round and round my brain the last few weeks. The song is called “On and On it Goes.” The lyrics seem to resonate with how I am feeling and give me a kind of hope that I am needing. It is funny because the album, The Calling, was out in 2006. There are songs that are really good. I liked the album but as things go, I listen to it for a while and then move on to other music. She is no longer on country radio and I am not sure if she is on the genre of folksy music. Regardless, she remains one of my top favorite artists. I think I love her more than any other. Her voice is so soothing to me and I often listen to her music when I need to calm down. She is so amazing. She will be on the Terry Clark (another one of my favorite artists) Country Gold. I have not heard Terry Clark’s podcast in a while. I actually haven’t listened to any podcasts recently. I mostly just been listening to Mary or Luke Combs or sometimes Maren Morris’s “Girl.”

Last night was a rough night. I was highly suicidal and wanted so badly to act on my feelings. I was really struggling. I had sent an email to my psych in the early afternoon that I was okay and didn’t need to call her. Last night, I rescinded that message. I told her I was struggling and that I was not okay though I didn’t think I would really act (I was doing everything I could not to). I had written the email around 2300 but have had no response as of yet. She might have missed it or maybe doesn’t want to respond. I don’t know.

My schedule kind of cleared up a bit for this coming week. My pcp appointment I thought I had wasn’t there so I scheduled another appointment as I need to talk to him about my meds. Next week I will need a refill on anyway, least for the breakthrough meds. For some reason the extended release is a few days later. I have no idea how that happened. I can only think it is because the pharmacy was out and it took a few days to come in so now it is off my schedule for refills. I just have PT, which will be the last visit, and therapy. The following week will be tough as I got three and it could potentially become four with seeing the therapist. Hoping the therapist appointment will be the same day I see my pcp at they are at the same location.

I was feeling really depressed last night. Psychache was heavily weighing on my chest. I was feeling a huge amount of guilt and worthlessness. I also felt like a burden. I was beside myself with grief of not being able to see my psych and also the loss of my therapist of 16 years. The Sox game did not provide the distraction I was looking for as they lost in a big way, 11-2 to the worst team in the MLB. I have no idea why we lose to bad teams yet are able to win against those with winning records. Makes no fricken sense. But this is the 2019 Sox that are sucking so bad. The manager keeps saying “they need to do better” but I don’t know when that will be. Apparently in last night’s blow out, there were a lot of errors. I can’t say I am surprised because the way the lineup was flabbergasted me. They had players that did not regularly play their positions they were in and I can only guess messed up terribly. I know the right fielder did when there was an inside the park home run. It was downhill from there.

I wanted a beer today. I was supposed to see friends today but because of the high heat, we cancelled for another day. I went down to my sister’s to see if my brother in law had the one I was looking for, a Sam Adams ’76. He did. I had some chips and made a cold cut sandwich. By the time I was done with the sandwich, the roof of my mouth was reacting to something. I am not sure if the beer had ginger in it or not. It tasted different than the other Sam Adams I have had and was citrusy. I took a Benadryl just in case the swelling becomes worse. I tweeted the Sam Adams account to see if the beer has ginger in it. It has some strange hops in it that might contain it. There was no ingredient label on the bottle and nothing I could find on google other than the hops used, which might be what I am reacting to as well. My tongue is now being affected so I am glad I took the Benadryl when I did. Not sure if I need more or not.

Since going down to my sister’s, my ankle/foot has been acting up. When I came back to my room, the pain just got worse. I am tempted to take another breakthrough med. Foot is throbbing so intensely. It is bringing on the suicidal state I get into. I hope tonight isn’t going to be like last night. I really don’t want to struggle again. I am still exhausted from all my efforts to avoid acting on my urges. Hope the pain meds work. And the Benadryl. Going to take my night meds now and listen to the game. Hope they beat the shit out of the O’s.