I’m fine.

I’m fine.

The memories of this past week where I couldn’t cook or clean, or when I’d call my mom crying are fading into the background. The fact that I called off work last Monday is so faint in my mind.

I’m fine.

The therapist never called me back in regards to switching to another person. I wonder if I’m over reacting, making stuff up that isn’t there. Then I remember that she told me that being self-harm free for a year wasn’t a big deal and really not all that long. But still…

I’m fine.

I started wondering yesterday how bad was bad enough to go to the crisis center.

But I’m fine.

So I will pick myself up, go to work, and get on with my life.

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This isn’t supposed to be how it works

Two days ago I called my therapist and left a message saying I wanted to talk to her about something. Namely that I don’t want to see her anymore.

She called me back this morning, and the conversation went a little like this:

Me: I’ve been thinking and I want to see someone else.

Therapist: What do you mean? You mean someone else here?

Me: Yes

Therapist: I don’t know if that’s possible. Why do you want to see someone else?

Me: I’m not comfortable with you.

Therapist: Well I can bring it up with the team but I don’t know if we can do it. The other therapists are busy and have full schedules, and I’m the only one that really has evening hours. I’ll ask.

And then she hung up.

I was pissed.

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t that. I feel like an appropriate response would have been more like “I’m sorry you feel that way, can we talk about this?” Or something like that. Instead she sounded like she was annoyed with me.

Now I’m not sure what’s going to happen or when I’ll hear from her again.

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I texted the Crisis Text Line last night. No, I wasn’t suicidal…I had my reasons and no, I’m not going to tell you.

But it helped. It also told me something. I can’t wait to switch therapists. It may not be a good idea to wait three months to see the psychiatrist again, though I would rather tackle this with a therapist before changing meds.

My interactions with this therapist had me underestimating the power of my illness. It was easy to dismiss my symptoms, to think I was better than I was. I was ignoring what hurt. When I sat down with my psychiatrist this last time, and she point blank asked me about the list of symptoms, I realized I’m not better. My bipolar is very real, and my symptom meter is out of whack. I’ve had this inkling that I was sliding backwards, and last night was the proof that I am.

So I’m going to call the therapist today and tell her I want to switch. It will be incredibly hard and anxiety inducing. But I have to, or I will just get worse.

Wish me luck.

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Turning 30

I turn 30 this week. I never thought turning 30 would feel like a big deal, but it does. Not in the sense that I’m suddenly old, but in the sense I get to start over. It’s like New Years. Like I can take control of my life.

My 20s were rough. Mental illness reared it’s ugly head and sucked up most of the energy that should have went to enjoying life. Grad school ended up being an exercise in survival.

I know better than to think that there will be some miraculous change in myself just because I’m 30, but that doesn’t mean I can’t try. Part of this is coming from the fact that my therapist thinks I should change jobs to something outside my field because I’m frustrated with my current position. She never bothered to even find out what I do in my current job or why I’m frustrated.

You do not get to walk into my life and declare I need to change the one thing that has kept me going the last several years. For better or worse part of my self-worth is tied to my career. Any thoughts of leaving my field have been closely tied to depression. I give in and depression wins. Not happening.

Which brings me back to turning 30. I have fought to get here. I will fight to move forward. I’m not going to give up. Mental illness is going to follow me into my 30s. There’s no doubt about it. Mood swings will happen and depression will try and rob me of what I have worked for.

I can do this.

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That’s what my therapist wants me to do. She tells me about how she exercises even though it’s not her favorite thing and then feels fabulous.

She tells me I need a project. I already have one, I say. Apparently I need to get another one.

She tells me all these anecdotes about herself. How if she stays up late she’s tired and she’s exhausted after a bad week at work, and isn’t that how I feel? Um. No.

She tells me that I just have to adjust to having mood swings. I’m trying. I can’t just pull myself up by my bootstraps.

She tells me that my brain fog is chronic (duh) and that I should just start projects earlier and I’ll be fine.

She tells me that I should look for a job outside my field, and dismisses me when I tell her I wouldn’t be happy and I want to do what I’ve been working towards the last 10 years.

She tells me all these things in a half hour then ushers me out the door.

And at the end of the day I’m left alone with my thoughts. Wasn’t I clear? I’m having problems with depression. If I could just try a little harder and be able to cope, why the hell am I spending $50 an hour?

I don’t know how else to describe the disjointed thoughts in my head-that mental block I get or being stuck in my head. I don’t know how else to explain that I’m struggling-that I have this sense of hopelessness following me around.

It’s like I’m not trying hard enough. If I check off all the boxes on a to-do list and then just suck it up, I’ll be fine.

I miss my old therapist. And I’m wary of this new one.

But I have to wonder.

Is she right?

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I feel like I’m in high school again. Not in the sense of drama (thank God), but in the actual way I feel.

The majority of the time that I was in high school, I danced on that fine line between feeling ok and feeling suicidal. Well, that’s not really a fine line, but it sure as hell feels like it. Anytime I was on that fine line, I questioned what I was feeling. If you haven’t already figured it out, I’m there now.

I know I’m beating a dead horse. I can’t leave well enough alone. (And any other cliché you can think of.)

But am I ok? Am I fine? Does that negate all the bad times? What about those times between Christmas and New Years where I sat on my apartment floor crying because I couldn’t do anything? What about all those times in the past two weeks where I thought about skipping meds, cutting, and suicide?

I feel like I’m making everything up, and I’m mad at myself for not doing better.

I see the psychiatrist on Monday. Still haven’t figured out what I’m going to tell her. I’m supposed to call the therapist to set up an appointment. Haven’t done that.

I just need to try harder.

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Here we go again….

Well, any doubt that something is wrong with my mental health has vanished. Depression has fully parked itself in my brain. I feel like I have my own personal black cloud.

It’s been slowly creeping up on me. But the day after Christmas–I called my mom crying because I couldn’t get myself to do laundry. My energy is gone, and I just want to crawl back into bed. I have the negative loop talking to me in my head. I want to cry.

I know I have to keep moving. If I don’t it will only get worse. I have to pick myself up, shower, and keep my plans for the day. I have to fit the urge to simply sit here and cry.

I have to.

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Alright. I’m confused.

I’ve been hesitant to write here. Can I blame that on my new therapist? Because I want to.  I want to blame all the confusion I feel on her. For months I’ve been trying to sort out how much I’m making up.  I went from seeing a therapist every week to not even once a month.  In fact, the last time I saw this new person, she asked me if I even wanted to do therapy.

I’m confused. Am I depressed?  Is anxiety really an issue? Hell, am I even bipolar? Do I really need to be on these meds?  Did I really make the majority of my symptoms up? Do I just need to grow up?

I’m not a textbook case-for depression, bipolar, or anything else.  I don’t have any of those glaringly obvious symptoms. Have I convinced people that something is wrong when there isn’t?

I don’t understand my supposed diagnosis anymore.  I don’t understand what, if anything, my brain does anymore. I really don’t understand.  I don’t understand my relationship with my old therapist anymore, and I am most definitely confused by my new one.

Can someone please tell me what’s going on?  Because I don’t know anymore.

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Annnnd I’m done.

Have you ever had one of those moments where you just want to throw your hands up in the air and yell “I’m Done!”

I’m there.

I get one of my meds through the drug company’s patience assistance program.  Last time I applied (even though nothing changed) I was denied for whatever reason.  So I had to jump through some hoops.  I jumped through the wrong hoops, meaning I had to go through more steps.

I’m done.

The  last time I spoke with my new therapist, I mentioned how I have a tendency to think I make things up or are doing things for attention. I walked away feeling like that is true.  It’s not her fault.

I’m done.

I can’t shake the feeling that I feel this way because I want to feel this way. I mean, I’m the one who decided to stop taking my meds, so I could have just as easily decided to keep taking them, right?

I’m done.

Logically, I know the steps I need to take to be well, but that is fading quickly. And I just feel worse because I know what I’m doing–stopping my meds & not taking care of myself– is wrong and I’m not doing anything about it. But if I’m choosing to make bad decisions, that means I have the ability to make good decisions and I’m choosing not to.  That means I’m doing this to myself on purpose.  Which means I’m being selfish.  Which means its too embarrassing to ask for help.

I’m done.

I can faintly recognize that something is broken, but it doesn’t seem broken enough to do anything about it. And really, what if you broke it yourself?



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Late nights and downward slides.

I stayed up late last night.

Bad move.

I had a friend from college over and we talked until 10:45 or so. I went straight to bed when he left, but I’m paying for the late night now. A couple things always happen when I stay up late.

  1. Weird/upsetting dreams.  I had a dream that I started to have visual hallucinations and my old therapist was trying to help me but it wasn’t working. It was one of those dreams where you wake up feeling like you are still in the dream.
  2. I wake up feeling uncomfortable and exhausted and wanting to cry and wishing for a solid 24 hours where I don’t have to move. The stress is overwhelming.
  3. I get that feeling that everything that can go wrong today, will.

Today I have the added bonus of dreading work.  I have to work a 10 hour day.

I haven’t felt like this is a while. Things are starting to pile up and weigh heavy on me.  I’m not getting called back for a job that I really want. My job this time of year is really stressful. I’m having to fight with people to get my medicine because insurance doesn’t want to pay for it and the stupid patient assistance program suddenly decided that I can’t have it even though nothing has changed. Apparently they think I can afford medicine that is two thirds of my salary. It will get resolved, but not until I jump through hoops to make them happy.

On top of all this I have a sense of dread about my new therapist and psychiatrist.  Never mind they have done NOTHING to give me proof that they aren’t good, but my brain keeps manufacturing stuff to make me think otherwise.

I feel like I’m starting to have extreme emotional reactions to everything again–like I’ve lost my regulation.  I’m losing perspective on how I feel and at the end of the day I’m at a loss as to what mood to put down in my journal where I track everything.  So I simply don’t. My anxiety is spiking. Yesterday I got stuck thinking about suicide again. I feel scared. I’m toying with the idea of skipping meds.

Something isn’t right and I’m hoping I can blame it on staying up late. I’m hoping that tomorrow, after I sleep tonight, I’ll feel better. If I don’t, I think I’m in for the long haul and I’m going to have to fight..


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