I spent a lot of time last night thinking about the hospital since my therapist suggested it. I had lots of time to do that- skipping meds combined with the looming anxiety of what may happen kept me up last night.
Here’s what I came up with.
1. I have no desire to take meds. I wasn’t kidding when I told my therapist yesterday that I wasn’t sure I could take them.
2. Maybe I can’t take care of myself right now. Clearly I’m struggling to take my meds. I haven’t done the dishes for over a week, I couldn’t tell you the last time I did laundry. I haven’t been eating right for weeks, maybe a month. Showering has become an only when necessary thing.
3. I’m still making it to work, but I’m chalking that up too sheer stubborness at this point.
4. I’m done fighting. I’m just done. I don’t have the energy to expend to get my brain to cooperate at this point. Everything feels exhausting and the idea of simply not existing is appealing right now, to be honest.
If my therapist, after I talk to her today, still suggests the hospital…..
I might go.
Today I texted my therapist to tell her I stopped taking my meds among other things.
She suggested I go to the ER.
I texted her back and told her I was NOT going to the ER, that I was at work and would be fine. But am I, really? I know why I stopped taking my meds this time. I’m making lists and plans and am eerily calm about everything.
I feel like that if I need to go to the hospital, there would be more turmoil. Not sure what that would look like, but definitely not this.
Let’s just say tomorrow’s therapy appointment will be interesting…….
Well. I survived. I made it through the week of camp.
I was kinda useless by Thursday (thank goodness for my assistant). I just didn’t have the energy and mental capacity to deal with 5th graders anymore. I couldn’t even fake it. My memory was shot. I got home last night, slept for 2 hours, got up, showered, and went to sleep for another 11. I’m exhausted. I need time and am going to ask for one or two days off work to recover.
If it wasn’t for that damn depression. It’s pulling me down. I haven’t done the dishes in a week and I couldn’t tell you the last time I did laundry. I’ve had to resort to dressing up because everything else I own is dirty. My messy is turning into dirty and I hate it. This isn’t me. But I can’t get my sorry butt up off the couch.
I hate this. This depressive episode has lasted forever. It feels like years. I want it to be over. I’m tired of taking medicine, I’m tired of feeling suicidal. I’m tired of being me. I want an out.
There are some things about myself that frustrate me. Namely, my follow through. Anytime I try to track anything…my mood, my budget, anything…..it falls by the wayside about a week and a half after I start. Hell, after about two weeks I get too lazy to refill my pill organizer. It’s like clockwork. It’s gotten to the point where my therapists suggests something and I simply look at her and tell her that isn’t going to happen.
I know this about myself, I’ll even openly admit it. But I hate it. I know I would benefit from doing those things. I even want to do those things. But no matter how badly I want it, I can’t seem to do it. This blog seems to be the only thing I do consistently.
And I have to wonder. Is this just me? If it is, why can’t I change it even though I want to? Or is it the bipolar. Is this something I can blame on that? Does anyone have any insight into this?
I should be at work right now. I’m going to be late today. I’m nearing my breaking point and I have another 9 days before I have a day off. We have a two day event this weekend and then I go straight into our summer camp. This day last year I had a breakdown and had to call in sick. I’m still going to make it to work this year, so I guess that is an improvement.
But I’m taking it easy. My brain can’t handle much else. I’m functioning in a perpetual fog, and I feel like I’m going to burst into tears at any given moment.
I don’t want to admit to my boss that I’m struggling, especially as we approach major events. I am going to ask for a couple days off after all this is over. I have comp time I can use. I need a four day weekend to recover.
I hate that I can’t handle stress anymore. I used to be able to balance so much at one time. I question my ability to do the job I want in the future.
I’m going to do as much as I can for as long as I can and that will have to be enough.
My memory used to be fantastic. But now, not so much. I’ve never used a day planner and I never used to write down my homework when I was in school and I NEVER forgot what I had. Now I still don’t use a day planner. I’m noticing that I have a hard time remembering what to do. When I get stressed I constantly forget what I was thinking or doing and I have to stop and retrace my steps and only about half of the time do I remember. My volunteers at work have noticed that I’m super forgetful now and they keep telling me I’m not old enough for that to happen. I laugh it off but I’m worried.
My mom, Doctor, and therapist keep trying to tell me that this is normal. People forget things when they are stressed. This doesn’t feel normal to me. This feels sudden. It doesn’t only happen when I’m stressed. It started a little over a year ago. I don’t think it’s because I’m older, I’m only 29. I don’t feel old. What I do notice is that it started after I got really sick spring of 2016. I’m convinced it did something to my memory.
I don’t know, but I’m thinking that this is something I’m going to have to learn to live with. I have to accept that, but I don’t have to like it.
But as always….
I will do as much as I can for as long as I can and that will have to be enough.
I was over at my mom’s today helping her with stuff when she looked at me and said, “you know how you told me that sometimes you hear things? I know what it’s like that’s happening right now.”
I’m at a loss as to how to process that. I wish I could remember her exact words.
I wonder if it really is the same thing. She said it was distracting. I didn’t ask her if it happened in the third person. I should have. I may still ask her later.
If it isn’t the same I just chalk it up to her trying to relate but falling short. Which is frustrating as hell but I can deal.
If it is the same thing…..I don’t know what to do with that. In some ways it makes me question my symptoms, even my diagnosis. I feel bad for her. If she is aware of the fact that she is supposedly going through the same things I go through, why isn’t she getting help? But she can’t be going through the same things I go through, because untreated I’d be either hospitalized or dead. So confusing. I want to talk to her about it, but I worry that the conversation will leave me in a bad place.
I don’t know if any of that made sense. But that’s where I’m at right now
I wonder a lot about my future. What will my Bipolar look like in 5 years? 10 years? 20 years? Will it get better or worse? Will it stay the same? Will I be able to handle the job that I want?
I specifically worry about my memory. I have moments where I forget what I’m doing in the middle of it. This morning I had to pause and search my brain to remember what my best friend looked like. Now that’s a little scary.
My therapist continually tells me that my symptoms will lighten up as the years pass, but I keep seeing some articles that say the opposite. I don’t know. My future feels uncertain and I don’t like that.
Regardless, I have to remember…
I will do as much as I can for as long as I can and that will have to be enough.
Well. After a talk with my therapist, we decided that I needed to do a thing. Specifically, tell my boss that I’m sick.
Yes. Tell my boss that I am mentally ill.
Now, its not like I sat myself down in her office and went “I have bipolar”. It was more of a “I have depression and its been really bad lately.” Because, right now, that is what my problem really is. I was terrified to tell her, but I knew I needed to do it. The depression was/is affecting my work.
I told her and started crying and the first thing she did was give me a hug and then we took a walk and she asked me how she could help.
I’m one of the lucky ones.
I’m tired. I am so, so tired. Of all of this. I’m tired of being sick. I’m tired of monitoring my moods.
But most of all, I’m tired of feeling like I’m failing. I can’t keep up. The feeling of not being good enough is so pervasive and convincing. You can’t argue with reality, and I can’t deal with this anymore.