DBSA and a Glass of Moscato

Well, something absolutely incredible happened.

I decided to take myself to a Depression and Bipolar Support Alliance (DBSA) group last night. I’m very happy I did. Everyone was so welcoming and they LISTENED. The group leader used to be in the Church of Scientology, which I found to be quite amazing. I felt like I truly belonged in that group. 

2 hours later, I left group therapy and returned home. My grandmother and aunt were home as usual. I happily sat at the dining room table (mostly because the air conditioning was blowing right now me) and I picked up my DID book. 

After about an hour or so after I got home, my aunt began to iron some of her clothes next to the table. We were on the topic of Scientology for some reason. I told her about the guy I had met in group therapy earlier that afternoon. She perked up and asked me, “Why are you in group therapy?”

Just a reminder- I have not talked to my aunt in YEARS. Sure, we exchange polite hellos and awkward smiles. We have NEVER had an in depth conversation; never mind that she’s my godmother. 

Just hours before this moment, I had been sitting in a room with fellow bipolarneers, spilling out all of my hurt because I felt like a prisoner at home. I had to keep my mental health under wraps because no one has ever cared to listen to me in the family. No one has ever validated my depression. They had just summed it up to angst and poor behaviour. At least, in my own opinion.

I’ve never seen my aunt perk up this excitedly. I told her I was in group therapy to manage my depression and bipolar disorder. She stopped ironing, actually LOOKED at me and said, “Yeah, I have major depressive disorder.” 

I knew my aunt was depressed and I knew she was on medication. I suppose that A) it was never talked about and B) WE especially didn’t talk about it ever because we didn’t talk in general.

I told her about my outpatient treatment I received not too long ago. She asked me if I have ever considered medication. I told her I’m on Lithium. She hurried off to the bedroom and brought back a pill bottle with her.

Celexa. She’s also taking tranquilizers.

We talked a little bit more about our depression, and my grandma also listened…which was a big deal for me. There was no judgement. No one made it this huge deal. My grandma said, “Well, for me, prayer is my therapy…and my father always told me that sometimes people talk to themselves because there isn’t anyone more intelligent around them. So I talk to myself all the time.” We all shared in a laugh.

Then, my aunt scurried to the kitchen. She called me to come open her wine bottle. I poured her a usual glass, small. She laughed and said, “Well I’m going to need more than that!” 

She was actually talking to me. It was as if the veil of bullshit lifted off and we both understood and empathized with one another. Sure, there’s a lot more to absolve and work out. But this was a HUGE breakthrough. 

Even my grandma had a glass of wine, which is completely out of her character. It was surreal. But I loved it. What a wonderful relief it was.

I had finished reading my DID sourcebook. Today, I’m planning on bringing some ideas to the system. There were some awesome, workable tips I read about, and I’m looking forward to implenting them. 

On a sidenote, I barely slept at all last night. I’m feeling alright. I think it was just a bit of insomnia.

The Weathered Rescuer

3rd therapy appointment. It was alright. It felt pretty unproductive to be honest. I didn’t know where to start, continue, or end. I blabbed uncomfortably about my family, my dad, my cousin….etc. I did, however, come to the realization that I am VERY detached from not only my past trauma, but reality in general. I’m apprehensive about therapy because I’m terrified of digging into myself and restoring those memories.

Before this, we had gone to the laundromat. I wasn’t totally there, either. I constantly feel that my wherewithal is a red balloon and I am holding on to the string. The balloon is tugging away from my grasp in every which way, and I have to keep re-tying the ribbon to my wrist.

Laundry, appointment, then we went to the mental hospital where I was enrolled in the out patient program(s). I have yet to find a new psychiatrist and I have about 3 days left on my medication. I’m getting a little anxious about the medication aspect….

But hey!!!!! Guess what!!!!! I got a new car!!!!!! YESSSSS!!!! This is my first car ever and I’m so damn excited. So, my mood has been outstanding considering the recent changes and such. Yes yes yes. Adulthood.

I’m bracing myself for this week. I have some bills I need to pay, I need a refill on my lithium badly and my seroquel, and I need to start learning to not freak out whenever I sleep in my bed alone. Baby steps. Growing pains. It’s going to be okay.

I start reading the book, The Magic Daughter, and I can already relate to her. She says that her selves were there to protect her, and from them she learned great lessons and talents. It’s very interesting.

That’s all I could tell my therapist today. “It’s interesting.” This, of course, is in regards to my dissociation in general. I don’t how to feel about it. I don’t know how to personally react to the fact that Goldie came out to her and her roommates. I really don’t. I told my therapist that I almost feel guilty, embarrassed, because I don’t want other people to view me as weak. I don’t want my girlfriend to see Goldie and think that I was too weak that I couldn’t even handle being in the moment.

I guess I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this, blah, blah, blah. I’m feeling introverted. Even though I have been able to keep it together relatively well, I still feel something inside of me cracking. I feel fragile, vulnerable, terrified, and fragmented. I don’t know what to expect from meeting my child self, repairing the hurt and heartbreak…

Airport Terminals and New Therapists

I feel as if I am not in my own skin, as if I am peering through someone else’s eyes like great bay windows.

Yesterday, we drove to LAX to drop off his parents. They flew to Florida and boarded a cruise ship this afternoon for the Caribbean. On the way to work this morning, I kept hearing the ding, ding, ding…. now boarding….terminal 3….

Incessantly.

Despite feeling like the passenger is somebody else’s vessel, I’m doing well today. I’ve been keeping up with my medication. Also, I found two new therapists! I will be meeting Dr. S on Friday at 11:30 am. I will be meeting Dr. J on Monday evening at 5 pm. Dr. J specializes in Schizoaffective Disorder, so I hope I like him and we click.

I wish I had more of an interesting entry to give to you! Alas, all is well.

I’m Still Alive! and Lithium Sucks

I bumped up my meds last night. Woke up at 2 am, after a gnarly dream I had, and threw up a few times.

I dreamt that I knew I was still alive, but I was just asleep. So, I tried to kill myself in the dream. Then, someone stopped me. When I woke up, I had this nasty feeling of, “Why the fuck am I still here?” It’s the feeling you have after a failed suicide attempt. At least, it was familiar to me.

The person who saved me in my dream then texted me promptly when I woke up, “Are you awake?”

I called my doctor in the afternoon about it. She instructed me to only take 600mg instead of 900 tonight, just until she can run my blood levels. I felt really woozy all day. My appetite is gone, I’m impatient, and I can’t concentrate on anything. It’s all really stupid.

In other news, I’m feeling slightly more alive today. The perpetuating melancholy was still soggy on my clothes, my skin. Yet, I found that ultimately, I could stay alive today. Which, I guess is better than flirting with oblivion. Yesterday afternoon, I spent 3 hours huddled in a ball underneath my covers- 80 degrees in the room, beads of sweat collecting all over my body. Normally, I wouldn’t be able to breathe. But I just lied there, softly inhaling, letting time wash over me like tepid bathwater.

My boss kept pulling me into for impromptu team powwows. As he recited his orders, his thoughts, and opinions, the running commentary in my mind bellowed, “None of this matters. This is all make-believe-bullshit. Why don’t you see how badly I’m hurting? I want to die.”

Sob-fest. Please, somebody give me a hand off of my soapbox.

It then occurred to me that my last IOP day is on Wednesday…I better have a therapist by then, because I don’t know how much longer I can hang on without a professional.

Anyhoo, I hope everyone else is having a better day! I’d love to hear about some good news.

The Farewell Series; When Your Mom Threatens Suicide

I don’t even know where to begin with this post, so I suppose I’ll start at the place that sucks ass the hardest.

A phone call from my mother today:
ME: Hello?
MOM: I…sweetheart…I just (drops phone)..I called to tell you….shut up ch-…honey…I want to say goodbye.
ME:….what are you talking about?
MOM: I don’t want to live anymore…I don’t want to live anymore…I want to kill myself…

I could tell she was high. She was in hysterics, slurring her speech, etc, etc.

At the moment, it didn’t upset me nearly as much as I would have thought. However, a few minutes later, I was in tears. The thoughts inside my head:

I don’t want to lose two parents to suicide. If she never gets better, does that mean there’s no hope for me? No one loves me. Even my own parents don’t want me. What’s wrong with me? Am I unloveable? 

So on and so forth. I’ve been in tears off and on about my dad and her all day.

On another note, my doctor was happy to hear that the meds are working in regards to the hallucinations. It’s been 4 days I think?) with none of them. My mood is ALL OVER THE PLACE. Mostly, I feel very depressed- so depressed that I cannot kick the suicidal ideation out of my head.

Well I’m just a bucket of fun, aren’t i??

My body is giving out due to the seroquel, so I’m going to go. Thanks for reading!

Thank You’s and Candy Tantrums

First, thank you for reading my blog- even when it gets really morbid and morose. Thanks for those of you who support me and help me through the ugly periods.

I did relapse on the opiates… not enough to get super high. But, it was a relapse nonetheless. I was able to pull myself together, thanks to my good friend beansycheese. Thank you for being there for me, even though you don’t need to be. I don’t think you realize how your words impacted me in the best way!

Blahpolar as well, I just want to let you know I think you’re a real rad blogger, and thanks for always having great advice for me.

Anyhoo, today was my first full day back at work. I had a fairly productive day. I kept having cravings all morning long- glancing at the desk cleaner. Alas, I didn’t even touch the can. Progress, they’d say.

I’m still a little shaky and foggy. Emotionally, I’m doing better- at least, depression wise. I’m having incredible mood swings. When I was first put on lithium 7 years ago, I remember intense angry episodes. I was so aggressive and had an almost nonexistent fuse.

Fast forward to my nearly 23-year-old self, dosed up with said Rx, I’m experiencing the same damn tantrums. I get so furious for no apparent reason. Today, I cried because I wanted candy. CANDY.

God bless America.

I’m excited to go to groups tomorrow. I really missed it today. It sounds funny, but I really missed checking in, listening to everyone, socializing, and just being there.

Embittered Embroidery

I had this really weird thought, just for a split second. I thought, “I need to call my dad.” If you follow my blog, you know my dad passed away 20 years ago. I wonder why I had that idea.

This morning I was extremely embittered with myself. Everyone and every thing was fueling my anger.

Whenever someone spoke to me, I heard their voices bend into harsh and rigid tones. I was having trouble deciphering whether they were speaking to me or reprimanding me. I was on edge, to say the least.

It was so loud. I feel like I was a stammering idiot the entire morning. I cried like a baby in the bathroom because I couldn’t seem to pull it together. After getting some caffeine in me and talking myself down, I got better.

Then, boyfriend’s mother was waving ten Vicodin pills under my nose lackadaisically. (She “knows” I have a problem with opiates, but she always brushes it off. “It’s natural to be addicted….to each their own.” She is also addicted to painkillers and cocaine. Let’s be real) It took all of me NOT to ask her for one.

Tomorrow is my appointment with the psych to pick up my script for Zyprexa. I’m shitting bricks. I just want to have it, I guess… although, like I mentioned in an earlier post, I’m reading/hearing horror stories. I suppose it comes with the territory of antipsychotics. It doesn’t make it any easier though.

Allie is scared. She’s been upset all day. She’s sitting next to me crying because she’s worried. She’s afraid that the anti psychotics will take her away from me. To be honest, I’m just as scared. I’m sure we’ll sit with each other throughout the night, conversing, exchanging faint goodbyes…just in case. *weeps*

I haven’t really thought about it until I began writing this post. What would happen if she left? Or if Micah left? I hope they don’t disappear.

I’ve been thinking about attending NA meetings in my area. I kind of want to give it try next week.

A support group would be helpful. I would like to get clean off of everything- meds or no meds. Off of inhalants, painkillers…maybe alcohol, but I can’t even fathom not drinking. I’m not as honest as I should be about my drug use and self-harm. Readers, friends, I think I have a problem with drugs and chemical dependency. More so alcohol than anything else.

Damn. I thought to myself earlier, “I should blog about something happy tonight.” Where did that plan go south!?

Something happy… tomorrow is Ash Wednesday. I haven’t figured out what I’m doing for Lent. I like to take on things for Lent, not give something up. However, maybe this season I’ll abstain from gossiping and talking poorly about other people. (Which is difficult, as shitty as it is to say. It’s very easy to complain and bitch about some people in my life… but I think I could benefit from filling my heart with more love than hatred, right?)

Also, another random thought, I’ve been tossing the idea of moving out into my own apartment around in my head, and I’ve come to the conclusion that I would have a really hard time at night. I’m just speaking honestly. I don’t trust myself to be alone when the sun sets. It may sound stupid, but at least in this chapter of depression I’m experiencing, I do not trust myself to abstain from shooting, from self-harming, from drinking myself to sleep. God, it’s sad to admit it, but I mean it. I guess I could surprise myself. I’m not saying I would be like this forever, but right now, within this episode, I don’t trust myself…

Anyways, to all of you reading this, thank you for being such a great support group for me. I really appreciate all of you. I’ve learned a lot these past 3 months, and I’m looking forward to learning more, sharing more, laughing more, writing more.

You are all so awesome.