RealMental

From Sara

Imagine waking up one day and looking out the window to very gray skies. Rain is coming, and there will be no playing outdoors today. All you want to do is stay under your blankets where it is warm, but life calls.

You get up, but you are tired. Breakfast time, but nothing sounds good, even your favorite 3-cheese omelet. It will probably just add another 5lbs anyways, why bother? Grab a Pepsi and chug it, waiting for the rush of caffeine and sugar. Ahhh, a little bit of energy, finally. Only 6:20 and kids are whining for juice, breakfast, a different cartoon. Holy hell, I only just woke up, lay off already!! Do what needs done and collapse in the chair. Maybe they’ll leave you alone for 5 minutes now.

Nope. Diaper changes, spilled milk, the dryer buzzer goes off. The phone rings, the dogs want in-out-in-out. The kids have the tv up too loud, AGAIN. Turn it down before I unplug the damn thing! There is a list of things to do before naptime, but the list has disappeared, like everything else these days. Keys? Debit card? Hairbrush? The dryer gnomes got them all; they are nowhere to be found. You know you should clean the bathrooms, only the chair feels so good and you are so tired, the bathrooms aren’t going anywhere. Do it tomorrow. The phone rings again, it’s the cable company with a polite reminder your bill is overdue. Shit, shit, shit!! I knew I forgot something!

Naptime is far too short, and if they don’t nap at all your day has just sunk like the Titanic. You try not to snap at the kids, but every sound grates on you. Best to ignore them for awhile. What’s on tv? Oh, look at that, it’s nearly 5. Did you just say 5? Hubby is on his way home and will be expecting dinner. The thought of cooking is as appealing as the thought of taking a vegetable peeler to your fingers. Frozen pizza, again. Hubby comes in annoyed- didn’t we have pizza Monday? Did you call so-and-so? Did you remember to pick up…. from the store? No? What did you do all day? *sigh* Another day you can’t do a single thing right, so why try? Why? Because something is not right, you know it isn’t. You want to have your energy back, you want to play with your kids, you want to feel more than just tired and anxious all. the. fucking. time.

This is depression, from the inside.

You can’t see, originally uploaded by Sara LeeAnn.

Wounded Girl

Blogged here.

From Betty

To those who struggle – do not lose hope. Do not give up.

I am a 74 year old woman who spent 13 or so years in therapy [starting at age 58] and 5 or 6 years on Prozac. I now consider myself “cured” in that I no longer wish myself dead and/or fantasize about how to get myself dead. I don’t even want myself dead! I no longer shoot myself in the foot nor isolate myself for fear of shooting myself in the foot.

I move forward.

There was/is a lot of mental illness in my family and a fair bit in me. After many mis-matches I finally was lucky enough to get a good psychiatrist who was capable of treating me for so many years with patience, wisdom, tolerance and wit. They aren’t easy to find but they are out there – keep looking! He wasn’t perfect [no one is – even as you and I!] but he re-parented me, educated me and helped me.

Eventually he gave me Prozac which, in my case, was a miracle drug. I no longer need it – I think it permanently boosted my serotonin – the glass remains half full rather than half empty. I think I am being honest when I say my overriding feeling about living is now gratitude. I feel grounded.

I wish you the same good luck. Perhaps the last chapter of our lives is the most important chapter?

Depression, originally uploaded by ~Barb~.

Art Journal page about my depression (panic/anxiety) in mixed media (magazine cut-outs, acrylics, Sharpie markers, pen, sharpie poster paints.)

The darkness decided to come for a visit.  That same cold and lonely darkness that I’m so familiar with, it’s that unwanted family member.  My first thought is if I’ve remembered to take the Effexor and Thyroid Medicine. Yes, I have. The thyroid medicine is not a synthetic drug but makes me very sick if I forget to take it.

The day is spent wondering why about everything.  Why did that man just look at me like that? What does that phone call “really” mean? Why haven’t I been able to solve this problem? Why does it hurt sometimes so much that I can barely breath?

Why, why, why, why?

Due to this being a familiar experience, I regrettably have to note that there is some small amount of comfort in this unwelcome visitor.

Chemically, I’ve done my part with the medicine. Spiritually I’ve done my part. I am not hungry, angry, lonely or tired. Well, maybe I am actually tired. Yes, my sleep patterns have been off and I’m having a very hard time establishing a healthier routine.

A healthier routine is the answer for a lot of things, and I know without any doubt that when I am actively participating in a healthy routine I FEEL GOOD. Not “too” good, just balanced and healthy. Yet, as a human I’m apt to jump off that wheel and ruin all that feel good stuff.

Do other people that do not have mental issues and addictions have to work so hard at staying in the middle of the road? I always wonder about people that don’t suffer from the “crazy”.  Do they question why getting up, taking a shower and feeding ourselves is considered a victory for us on some days?

Some days it just comes. It isn’t because I am bad, wrong, stupid, overweight and ugly.

Some days it just comes.

Maybe if I don’t feed it or clothe it, like I’ve done in the past, it won’t stay too long.

Yeah, hi.  That’s me.  I know I’ve been away for a while, but what better occasion for a return than to tell the world just how horrible a person I am?

My bipolar husband, despite doing all the right things, has been deep, deep, deep in an atypical (for him) depressive cycle for at least the last six months.  It’s actually probably lasted longer, but that’s about how long it’s been debilitating to the point that he can’t work or maintain normal function.  I won’t go into details about everything that’s been tried for him so far, but let’s just say it’s been a LOT.  And that he has cooperated whole-heartedly with every treatment, regardless of how horrible the side-effects may be, because he wants his life back.  Badly.

You know, depression has never been the bugaboo for us.  It’s always been the threat of a manic episode that loomed nearby, and kept us ever-vigilant for the slightest symptoms and early-warning signs.  It’s mania that has scared the stuffing out of us both, because we both know that a good, strong florid mania is capable of ruining our marriage and our family, despite whatever good intentions we may have.  Mania has always been, for us, the Other in our marriage–a beast to fight and fear.  I even used to joke, “Where is the other pole in this bipolar disorder?  I think we could use a swing toward depression right now!”

Ha, ha.  It’s not funny any more.  I am so sorry, but I really had no idea.  I thought I did, which now is very nearly hilarious–I thought I “got it.”  I didn’t.

I did not anticipate, in my wildest dreams, the depth, the blackness, the despair of this depression.  That it could affect my brilliant spouse’s cognitive abilities and physical coordination.  It’s like a malicious, transient form of brain damage, really, and stunning in its power.

And my response to it has been, well…less than stellar, at least lately.  I have been so wrapped up, in the years since the diagnosis, in watching for and combating the manic side of the spectrum, that the depression caught me completely flat-footed.  My troops were all amassed at the Hypomanic Border, and the few straggling sentries and scouts who brought reports from Depressive Kingdom were brushed off as insignificant, or addled.  If only I’d known.

Who knew–turns out that my moods cycle, too.  And that cycle, in regard to my mentally ill spouse, appears to go something like this: Patience, understanding, patience, kindness, patience, concern, patience, frustration, worry, frustration, resentment, impatience, fear, deep frustration, RIP YOUR HEAD OFF AND DISEMBOWEL YOU WITH UNKIND WORDS.  Nice, huh?  I honestly, and truly suck.

That’s right–when a loved one is down lower than you can even imagine being, why not give him a good swift kick, you know, as long as he’s down there?  Go ahead, vent your spleen–after all, you have feelings, too, right?  And you’ve bottled this up for so long, why save it for therapy?  I’m sure that the person who is clinging to you like the only life-raft in a raging sea of misery won’t mind ONE BIT.  Let him know just how displeased you are with this whole depression thing, because almost certainly he’s been doing it ON PURPOSE, and just needs to feel your wrath, resentment, and maybe even a smidgen of contempt, to snap right on out of it, get back to work, smile, and be happy!  RIGHT?

I feel about two inches tall, and I’m so, so sorry.  I wish that what I’d done was to recognize and appreciate the things that he is amazingly ABLE to do right now, even through a thick black fog.  That is true courage, and I DO see it.

Going back to my best attempt at being positive (which is where I should’ve stayed all along, more’s the pity), we’ve pushed the doctors to make some fairly radical (for us) and frightening  (for us) changes in medication regimen, and I can’t help but think that something’s going to happen soon.  It may be too much, but at this point, anything different will be welcome, at least at first.

One of two mood stabilizers has been removed entirely, as has the benzodiazepine.  This will be the first time since diagnosis without Depakote and Klonopin.  This is terrifying.  To exponentially enhance our trepidation, factor in a huge increase in anti-depressant dosage.  Now, realize that this is exactly the time of year when the “ramping up” usually begins, and you have a real “YIKES” element going.

Of course, this is all pretty much what we asked for.  Much the same way ECT jolts the brain out of a repetitive, destructive pattern, we’re hoping to shake up the med cocktail SO much, while at the same time hopefully harnessing some of that very manic energy that we normally fear so greatly every spring, that my dear husband’s brain will HAVE to let go, and emerge from the depths.  I’m just hoping that we have time, once the climb begins in earnest, to get the lid on before it’s too late.

I’m also hoping to be less of a jerk about the whole thing.

Oh hi, i have been absent from writing here for a long time, I have remained present on the inside reading comments, moderating occassionally. Keeping everyone in my thoughts.

I went off Lexapro last september for a variety of reasons. Most importantly i felt the medication was making my mania, depression and self-harming behaviours worse. My marriage had ended after my husband found out i had had an affair. The medication didn’t make me have the affair neither did being bi-polar, but those things definately had some influence on the choices i made. After being on medication for three years and being hospitalized for an overdose of prescription drugs,  a subsequent suicide attempt and two years of depression i decided to try life without medical intervention. I had a feeling that being medicated was making me worse.

I tapered off Lexapro over an eight week period. It was very difficult. I did it without doctor supervision for fear that my doctor would not agree with my self-diagnosis.

After three months i felt completely normal. Like the jess i used to know. I still had chronic anxiety and fears of depression coming back out of hiding. But, i could think clearer than i had in years. I could look, with perspective, at the mess my life had become. I saw, regretfully, the pain i had inflicted on those around me and the stupid choices i had made.

I could also see that i still had children who loved me and that i had managed to cobble together a life on my own. A home, a job self-sufficient. Something i had never been. Independent. Last spring and summer were monumental for me in regards to personal growth. It was an amazing time capped off by a trip to BlogHer in july. I was proud, strong and confidant.

In august my ex-husband and i began the painful process of trying to reconcile. I moved back into his home and we tried to come back together as a family. It hasn’t gone very well. The pain he has combined with my guilt has been incredibly difficult. It is a very tough path we are on and we have both thrown in the towel on several occassions only to crawl back in the ring and give it another round. The fight is nearly over.

Last week i went to my doctor because i have been having this irritating and frightening problem with orgasm-induced migraines. The pain is so intense and instant that i feared i was actually dying of an aneurism. I have started taking amitriptyline, an anti-depressant, to control the migraines. I don’t know yet if they are working as i have been too nervous to “test”.

I have noticed that my brain is slowly slipping back into it’s medicated state. My anxiety has lessened, but feelings of despair and depression have crept back in. Obviously, i am in a not great situation at home that is adding to the hopeless feelings, but i keep thinking is it really the medication? Am i a hypochondriac? Does anybody else feel this way on drugs? And really? Is it worth it, is a life without orgasm better than a life depressed. I think probably.