Why?

For some reason, my depression came back and smacked me upside my head this afternoon. I’ve felt emotional good for quite awhile now. I hate this feeling – and especially that I have to push it down and hide it … Pretending that all is well even when it is sucking out my emotions. I HAVE to hide it. I have to. Anxious Fearful Angry. For the first time in a very very long time, I wanted to punch a cinder block wall. I put the knuckles of my fist up to it and turned my fist, pushing through as I would in a power punch.

Aging

I’ve just spent the last four days with my mother for her 90th birthday. I am in awe of how well she is doing. Yes, some of her quirks have become a little quirkier, and it’s harder for her to hear. Her humor is just as quick, her posture straight up, her love of books and reading has plenty of time to be fed (a favorite site is to see her with her legs draped over the side of her chair, like a teenager, deep into her current read) and she’s in a safe apartment surrounded by caring friends. Unless the weather is bad, she puts on her heavy binoculars and ventures out for an hour of bird watching every morning. And, yes, she also does water aerobics twice a week.

This was a special opportunity to share a special event. Rather than my visit being a gift for her, it truly was more of a gift for me. I’ll hold it dear forever.

Happy 90th Birthday Mom! I continually love and admire you, trying to follow your example.

New and newer

So … new insurance means finding a new person to handle meds. Met with that person yesterday. Oh, and yesterday kind of s#cked. Made several professional mistakes that I could be called to task on and/or written up for. Trying to stay on top of too many things at once and that means making mistakes. On to the new prescriber, a psychiatric nurse practitioner. After spending over an hour with her, she’s decided to double the amount of Zoloft (generic version) from 50 to 100 mg. I knew the 50 mg was low, but it was mainly to stop the crying. And she’s also increasing my Lamictal from 200 to 300 mg. She says that’s the most that should be taken before its effectiveness decreased. She wanted me to take the rest of the week off of work but I refused to. Conferences and assessments to be done. Next week is a vacation week, so that should help. As always happens, she wanted me to assure her that if I felt like hurting myself, I would call 911. I said I wouldn’t do that. Would I call her? I said, “honestly, no.” Heer response was the expected, “if you can’t do that, then I need to hospitalize you.” My response, “I have no desire to kill myself, but I can’t say I won’t hurt myself.” I’d told her that my self harming had gone from the more obvious cutting and burning to the non-visible purging. Even though it is not a good thing. This seemed more satisfactory to her and she let me go at that. I’ve never wanted to kill myself. There are too many things in life I want to see .. like grandchildren someday, my family, the world, what happens in life! Sometimes I just don’t want to hurt so much. It’s not even all the time, just when things happen. I just want to feel ok with myself and not so volatile or sensitive to everything. The roller coaster has NEVER been a ride I enjoyed ( real or metaphorically speaking.) And it’s not too thrilling for others on the ride with me either, ie my husband and family.

We’ll see how it goes. Today, I’m feeling better – but that’s also how it seems to go. I really would like to be ok with myself some day. From what I hear, I’m a pretty decent person.

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High Anxiety!

My anxiety is shooting up – at unexpected times and for no apparent reason. OK, I guess there is/are reasons. Work is stressful – ┬áreturning to it and being in a new place to teach, and feeling like I’m not up to snuff and worried about it all. Now I’m trying to find a new psych doctor and worry about the money aspect of that. My husband would say not to worry, but do what I feel I need to. But I don’t feel worthy of spending that kind of money on myself. I need to find a doctor, though. My meds run out in about a month and I need a psych to prescribe them. Me with no meds is a BAD thing! I’ve only fairly recently seemed to find a “cocktail” of meds that seems to be a good balance for me. I just sent an email to a prospective doctor. I gave him all the basic facts up front. I hope I hear from him soon. My insurance website provided his name, but then I didn’t see my carrier on HIS list, so I’m worried about that. I’m turning into my mother with worrying!

Afraid

I’m very afraid of what this new approach to my therapy will bring. But I asked for it. I feel like I’m in Limbo. Something am waits, but what. I want to force it out of hiding, yet fear it will be my undoing to do so. The fear makes me want to do things to myself to avoid facing it … Binge, purge, cut, burn, drink, pills … My skin is crawling. I don’t really want to hurt myself, just trying to avoid the unknown fear. Binging and purging isn’t working. I’ve no strong desire to cut and burn (feelings aren’t at that intensity right now) and having a drink just makes me sadly aware of the fear and avoidance.
I want to talk but am afraid of what I might say or ask. The truth might be too hard, too uncomfortable – demanding what of me?

“I don’t think you really have BPD,” She said. Then what? Am I just fucked up? I know my life is a dream compared to others. But I cannot deny the fear and trepidation that fill me. I put on a laughing facade around my friends. They say they are always there to help, but how can they? This all seems so childish of me. Get over it! Shut up the words that resound in your head. Silence can be so deafening.

Drinking makes me depressed, just like they say it will. Not a good thing to do. Ok, off to bed. Night all.

Closing In

No, I’m not burning, cutting or raging … but anxiety is closing me in and I am again binging and purging. But the purging isn’t working out much, so there’s lots of guilt and shame. Closing in on myself.

In counseling, we’ve changed directions a bit, on my request, from some DBT to cognitive behavior therapy. I want to look at my perceptions of myself and my world. I’m again feeling like I’m being told that I’m not what I thought. (Don’t really feel like going into that right now though.) Instead of looking at mindfulness and distress tolerance, I’ve started talking about what’s missing. Words that I don’t even want to utter out loud. I haven’t burned or cut in a long time, but I’m back to doing what I’ve spent the most number of years doing … binging and purging. So secretive, so personal, so difficult to get to succeed any more. My body rebels and I fail. Fail.

I find my body getting very still, to watch around me and see if I’m being noticed, my thoughts heard. I’m getting ready to go on a week and a half driving trip. There are questions I’d like to ask as we have this time alone together. But I cannot, unless I want us both to regret it. So I’m locked in silence and the silence is crushing as it intensifies. Sabotage? Fear, loneliness in the midst of togetherness

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Mindfulness

I haven’t written for awhile now. I’m stuck. Trying counselling, but don’t know if it’s helping. I cry a lot – at the mention of my father, future losses, failures I think I’ve had with my son and husband. I cry because I can’t go back in time to change what I said or did. I cry because I’m afraid of what I’ve lost or might lose. ┬áIt’s oppressive at times.

The counselor tells me to keep practicing mindfulness, and that some of the things I share with her indicate that I am being mindful at times. She reminds me that I can’t change the past or predict the future. Bemoaning and anxiety. I keep trying. It is SO hard though. Emotions run amuck. Sensations of the walls of the past and future close in around me, leaving little room for mindfulness. The pressure of the past and future engulf me, causing me to panic and forget where I’m at. I suppose that as I practice being mindful, I should get stronger and be able to push the walls back into place. At least that’s what I think my counselor would say if I shared my analogy with her. Is the goal then to push them back until the room they shape (my life) is as large as possible?

Cement walls closing in. I feel like I will drown.

Cement walls closing in. I feel like I will drown.