taming-my-unquiet-mind - Tumblr blog

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

I’ve been accurately diagnosed and medicated for maybe 3 years. It took 3 years to get to a very very stable pretty healthy place. I tweaked dosages often and changed a couple anxiety meds but I’m finally here.

It’s still not a magic bullet. Sometimes I get super stressed and the anxiety is terrible.

But the depression. Or better stated - the lack of depression.

I can’t remember what it was like before meds. Not really. Every once in a while I remember the overwhelming and all encompassing ache. The bone deep fatigue. The crying because nothing is good. The want to go to sleep and not wake up again. The knowledge that nothing in my life is actually that bad, but there is no possible way my brain can comprehend that.

However those thoughts are incredibly few and far between. COVID is really testing my meds which have had to go up. We have, no word of lie, completely quarantined for 1 year. Without break. My life is a never ending cycle and for a minute there I was going to lose it.

But the meds went up and I can tolerate it for now. I can’t wait for us to get herd immunity or for baby to get her vaccine.

Life is as good as can be. And that’s awesome.

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

My least favorite thing about major depression is when everything you love is suddenly completely boring and unenjoyable so you just have to wait for the day to end so your brain can try again.

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I don’t want anyone to take away the dark inside, cause after all those years I feel like it’s all I am.

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[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

“And how does not one single person notice that I’m not okay?”

- the suicide effect

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

A lot of people with childhood trauma (and, from my experience, especially attachment trauma) find themselves yearning for a parent figure. A mother, a savior - someone to hold you and love you in all the ways you needed when you were a child. Someone to hold you while you break into a million pieces.

At some point in recovery/therapy you will have to face the harsh reality: there will never be anyone. Not like that, not anymore. And mourning that? That’s too much, that feels like a pain that cannot be survived. A pain that will swallow you whole, a pain that will drown you.

Therapists can offer a lot of support, but not like that. So maybe you want to switch therapists in hopes of finding someone who can (even though, if they are a good therapist, they can’t), or you would rather be without therapists because then at least they won’t have to suffer the pain of “someone’s here but they’re not enough”. 

Getting a little support, a little of everything we missed, a little of everything we want… Getting a little is worse, in some ways. Because getting a little bit activates the pain; it triggers the feelings of what we miss. Dripping a couple drops of water in an empty bucket makes you feel how devastatingly empty that bucket is.

Getting nothing and being absolutely alone is dull. It’s a drag of depression and darkness. But getting a little bit but not everything? That’s sharp and flashing pain, it’s dry heaving from the heavy crying. It’s intrusive thoughts and self-destructive thoughts. It’s breaking apart again and again and again.

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

So what they don’t tell you

is that the super amazing happy mood elevation pans out after a while. Either that or I have adopted a new baseline. Unfortunately, as I have said before, it’s hard to tell when you can’t trust your feelings and you have a terrible memory.

Don’t get me wrong, life is so very much better than what it was before. I don’t remember tons until I read previous entries, and then I remember the weight that suffocated my ability to function.

The cycles happen. I don’t know why I thought they wouldn’t. I stupidly hoped that they would be all but snuffed out. Spoiler alert- they aren’t. I continue to do my own research and request specific medications. My previous meds weren’t working so I asked for a change. Can’t trust psychiatrist, idiot. I don’t mean to say all psychiatrist. They have the schooling and experience to know the drugs. Mine in particular just seems to prescribe willy nilly and gets frustrated with me when I report that the meds have stopped working. I’m sorry, was I supposed to keep that to myself? I can’t help that this happens. And I’m not quick to switch up either. I know my moods swing. That's literally the definition of bipolar so I’m patient. But a month and a half later when nothing gets better I am desperate to make it go away.

Anyways, I am in my low again. My body aches from nothing. Or at least nothing I can perceive. I worked from home twice this week, which makes me very nervous about being viewed as abusing my work policies. My job isn’t helping right now, either. I have been assigned a gargantuan project that will roll out in a couple months. While I am incredibly excited to be spearheading an important initiative, I can’t deny that the pressure to perform is affecting me. My wife and I are also 4 months pregnant. I honestly am not entirely sure how this happened. Well, I mean I know how it happened, it’s just such a blur and honestly surreal. 

On top of that my wife sold her company car and we are sharing one. Which actually isn’t much of a stressor at all, just a change in my norm. Finally, we are trying to buy a house, actually, as I write this we are waiting to hear back as to whether we got it or not. If we did get it, we are about to be maxed out as far as finances go. And honestly, I think this investment is risky. We know the neighborhood but we have very little money to renovate this 1960′s home and are unclear about the rent in the area. We are also investing with my mom, who has complete faith in our decisions, which comes with the added pressure of not fucking with her money.

I guess being stressed is expected. And since my body is less equipped with resiliency sometimes, I gotta know that this will happen. I’m also eating poorly. And I fucked my ankle up pretty bad again. It’s been at least 2 months and it still feels terrible. Prevents me from exercising. At least that’s what I say when I think to myself “I have to exercise”.

I could probably write a million more things but I’ll stop here.

Things could be better, but they could also be a whole hell of a lot worse. So here’s to “it could be worse”.

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And then, in fantastic reprieves, there is me. Neither reckless nor sad. Neither manic nor depressed. The small sliver of a person in the middle. Where I find who I really am when the two disastrous forces are at bay.

Mimsy

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

On the 2nd day of the year

Although, if I’m being honest, I’ve probably been escalating for the past couple weeks. But, you won’t catch me saying that in front of my wife, because that would mean that us not getting along is entirely my fault. And it’s not.

It can’t be. I feel so sure of myself. I’ve been calm. When I feel like I am going to explode, I walk away. I know it’s not me.

I know it.

I have to know it.

But this is another cross one bears when one has BPD. I can’t trust myself. 

You swear you're being rational, being factual, being calm. But if I were to record myself and then come back to it in 2 weeks, I know what I would see, and that’s an experience I would rather not repeat. 

So, I just walk away being completely positive of my correctness, feeling completely indignant at how I am being treated. 

And yet I am forced to second guess myself with each passing breath. It is an incredibly humiliating state to be in. Imagine being slapped in the face, experiencing a terrible sting and expecting an apology ( indeed, feeling astounded you even have to ask for one) and then being told you were tapped not slapped. 

Your response: What? Are you kidding? How could you possibly be trying to convince me of that? I was there?

Them: Umm .... no. It was not a slap.

You: My face is literally stinging. I am in pain!

Them: You are being “crazy”! I seriously just tapped your cheek! You have no right to be in pain.

You (by now hysterical): You’re telling me I can’t feel this?! You are saying I am making this up?

Imagine being smacked.  Your nerve endings stinging. Your cheek flushing. Your eyes watering. Everything feeling intense, and painful and real. And then being told that it was all in your head.

Then to see it later.

 And see.

That you never. got. slapped.

Can you imagine? The complete mind fuck that would be? But even then, if I knew that by a certain point I would consistently experience this, I could deal. If I knew that as soon as my wife sensed a difference, I would be irrational until it subsided, I think I could deal. It would be the part of the cycle that I would just have to realize nothing was real.

Except.

Sometimes I am right. Sometimes, she is human, and my feelings have been hurt, and she has been rude or mean or hurtful.

So I am slapped. And I spend the rest of the time trying to figure out if the woman in front of me actually hit me or if my mind is playing tricks on me again. (This is still the metaphor. My wife and I don’t actually hit each other.)

And it’s so fucking exhausting.

This is why bipolar makes you feel you don't know who you are anymore. You lose your sense of self. This is why I say that bipolar isn't a ying and yang. It’s a holy trinity. There is the Low, there is the High, and then there is me.

And right now, the High and I are dancing in the most erratic fashion. And I lose myself again. And instead of painstakingly trying to extract the pieces that are me and the pieces that aren’t- it’s easier to just take the whole thing and paint it on me. Let’s go drink. Let’s laugh maniacally (I said it) at dumb movies, or work out till you fall, or cry because the music is so beautiful.

My mania is taking any emotion and turning it to the max. Each rumble is an earthquake. Every giggle, a roar of laughter. Every sting is a gouge. Every dip, a freefall.

* . sigh . *

Well. It’s not new, so I guess I’ll try to make it through this one as well.

And yes. I’m still on the meds.

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

Hello, again

November. It’s almost Thanksgiving! I just finished one of the final steps in my second-to-last term of my master's program. A massive 50-page paper that has taken me two years to perfect. I’m sure I will have revisions to make after they take a look at it, but at least for now it is done. I am three months away from being done with the whole program. I continue to count down the weeks.

Did I mention I got a new job?

I got a new job.

I’m happy. Most always. 

I feel things that are, from what I gather, considered normal. The emotions that present themselves in any given situation seem to be on par with that of others. That is incredibly abnormal. And yet, it happens more and more with each passing week. 

I can’t remember what I have written in here already and what I have simply thought about without an expressive outlet. But recently my mind continues to revisit the reason for my initial individual therapy sessions. Every once in a while I think about my first posts here on Tumblr and how long ago that felt. I wish I had written more previous to my first intense mania. Not that I wish I could hold on to “before the reset” but, I mean, I kind of want to hold on to “before the reset”.

I have a terrible memory. Prior to any of this. It's pathetic how awful it is. So my recall of any subject isn’t stellar. Actually, I don’t have any recollection of my life before 10. I hardly remember things that happened in my 20′s. I chalk it up to a repressive pattern my brain seems to fall into- I swear it’s due to traumatic experiences as a child but I couldn't tell you what they were because .. I don’t remember them. I digress. The point is that I can’t remember last week, so I sure as hell can’t remember with any semblance of clarity what life was like before these happy pills came to be.

And I feel like ... it’s a dishonor to forget that part of me. Hmmm- maybe I mean disrespectful. Yes. I think it’s disrespectful to forget. I struggled. I struggle so much. I fought and I toiled and I suffered. Good God did I suffer. And I am so much better now.  But... that was who I was. That was the definition of me for almost all my life. 

Maybe I am just afraid that I will get comfortable this way. Sometimes I still think this is all temporary, someone is going to pull the rug out from underneath me, and things will revert back to the way they were. Back to “my normal”.

I want to make sure I am ready when that happens.

I had built up so many mental buffers. I armed my mind for the emotional beatings I would receive from my brain. Those barriers seemed to have melted away slowly, almost imperceptibly. Almost.

But I’ve noticed.

When I feel around for them and find them missing I feel naked. Raw and stupidly uncovered. So I tense my soul, just to test for strength I built up before. 

Flex. Still good.

I’ll probably continue to do this.

I used to take the temp of my feelings to see where I was. Surprised to see that the normal layer of panic or depressive weight was not there. That stopped. Then this started. I can’t tell how long it will go on for. But even as I write this, the idea that I am planning for it to go away indefinitely makes me begin to panic. So it will stay. Indefinitely, if necessary.

When you are used to your soul attacking itself, you tend not to relinquish your armor no matter how safe you are supposed to feel. 

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

Time flies

I don’t know where the time has gone. I told myself I would update this blog a while ago but as always happens, life got in the way.An update on my progress? 

I have been born again. Almost literally.

I am not who I used to be.

I literally do not ever recognize that person. I pity her. Not in a poetic manner .Or even a condescending way. I literally feel so bad for the girl I used to be. I was so sad, so unhappy, so ... just heavy and burdened and wrecked.

I feel normal now. Almost everyday.

I don’t even think about my mental health any more. I don’t think about my physical status or take an emotional temperature.  

I was able to reach a little higher. I found a new job. It’s done wonders for my happiness and fullfillment in life. I’m now practicing in the field I am pursuing my masters in- Learning and Development. I work at a start up in the heart of providence with all the perks a start up offers, like unlimited time off, beer on tap, free lunch everyday, and a fully stocked snack wall. I am learning so much everyday and stretching my self career wise and personally. 

I have 3 more terms to go before I graduate. And I think the wife and I have finally decided to have a baby. I know I said it before but I don’t think we were ready yet. 

I don’t know how much more I will write her. I still wish I had captured more of the falls and stumbles to get here. Becuase I promise there were plenty. Even now, with so much stressed at work and school I AM coming home and not wanting to get up. Feeling bone tired. But, it’s not weeks on end. It’s a day or two. 

I did have a day I drank three drinks, and almost felt a little out of control. But I reeled it in. It’s still a challenge. It is by no means effortless. But it is amazingly easier than before. I am happy.

I say that over and over and over again.

I am so happy.

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

I’ve lost track of time

I don’t know where I am at in regards to time since the start of this journey. Sometimes I feel so wonderful that I can’t imagine having experienced anything other than this. Then other times I feel buried under years of depression and anxiety so much so that my whole day revolves around it. It’s raining today. The swollen clouds darkened right as I got up and covered my day in their depressing blanketing. If they can’t be bright and cheery, no one can. So trekking to work was weighted down by a foreboding I could’t shake. Knowing good and well that by midday the day would seep into my bones and 

[unfinished]

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

After becoming the Three-Eyed Raven, Bran lost many things. Most tragically, he lost his sense of urgency and appropriate timing.

[taming-my-unquiet-mind]

Explaining the down

So two days ago I started cycling again. I missed my meds for two days. On the one hand it is amazing to not feel withdraw within hours of your dose. On the other your forget how critical it is to take it on time. Two days ago I climbed into mania. I can delve into that later though.

Right now I feel the crash. My wife is trying to be supportive. She asked what it’s like. She is documenting. Maybe this will help she says. She asks, is it a sharp pain. I laughed. I couldn’t help it.  I know exactly how to describe it as this is a constant feeling in my life. But at the same time it is so hard to capture. I have no idea how to accurately convey this terrible horrible feeling. It goes like this:

Her: I looked it up. It says that it is good you are aware and to take advantage

Me: * feel it start to take over *

Her: Tell me what it feels like. Are you angry or sad? Anxious or depressed?

Me: Lol. Sad? No not sad.

Her: That’s good?

Me: Pain. I feel pain..... It hurts.

Her: Is it a specific part? Where does it hurt?

Me: *where it always manifests” in my chest

Her: Okay, where else? Arms, legs, toes?

Me: *laughing internally at the absurdity. Don’t you know by now?*

Me: ...No. The rest of my body parts don’t exist when I feel like this. The only things that are here are my soul and my mind.

Her: Do you have a headache?

Me: No

Her: What does the pain feel like? Is it sharp?

Me: *I simultaneously am annoyed that she cannot feel the excruciating sensation through the phone but also relieved that I have the opportunity to put it into words.

Me: No. It’s not sharp  *here goes*  It’s and ever increasing steady pressure. An incredibly deep ache. Like someone you love has just died. But the death is only the passing of you self worth. Becuase you simultaneously feel sorry for yourself but also feel pathetic. Nothing has triggered you to spark this feeling. Yet here you are again. Without the strength to fight it. And you feel it pulling deeper at your chest. It’s a physical pressure on your body. I am struggling to stay upright. You loose the energy to even breath. Like you’ve just exerted yourself more than you ever have but the exhaustion isn’t in your limbs, it’s in your soul. No amount of sleep could ever let you rest enough to feel relief. It is SO. HARD. TO. EXPLAIN.

Her: I think I am getting it. Do you think its bad enough to go to the hospital

Me: *feeling like she is going down a checklist she found online for “loved ones of mental health sufferers”- I go through the motions* Have I ever? No- just in the bathroom crying.

Her: I’m sorry

Me: Just another day.

It’s amazing how I reread this and feel as though it does not accurately capture the feeling. It’s not small instance of sadness. It’s a putrid ichor seeping itself into the deepest part of your soul. It’s a feeling of unending ache in parts of you that you hardly ever feel. It’s as if your chest becomes a million times larger on the inside and your saddest memories are holding a most mournful funeral in the inner most cockles of the space. It’s a fury of demons tearing away at your feelings- tainting each and every one with a sheen of hopelessness. It is the wail of your failures, the sum of your disappointments, the depth of your painful parts. 

The most amazing thing is that, while this rages inside of you, always threatening to be too much to deal with, your outsides look exactly the same. It is almost unbelievable to feel this way, to feel as though there is no possible way to hold this all together, and have someone see you the same way they would if you were getting some ice cream.

How in God’s name can’t you see me suffering? Can you not see me cracking into a million fucking pieces ? Don’t you feel the threat of my implosion?

Don’t you see I’m dying?

I’m fucking dying.