Asking for Help

I don't write much anymore.  I'm going to try to keep this on the shorter side because I think when I drone on and on, less people read all the way through.

It's possible that my Depression has been worst this year versus previous years, but it's really been awful this year.  I hospitalized myself back in March and stayed in the hospital for 5 days again.  This time I opted not to go for the ECT, and I'm really glad I made that decision.

However, the meds I was prescribed in March seemed to stop working about a month ago - I started to notice my mood dipping again, so I asked the doc to increase my meds (300mg Wellbutrin to 450mg and 600mg Lithium to 1200mg).  Within a couple of days of the Wellbutrin increase I got sick. Not any sustained illness, really, but consistent nausea coupled with throwing up about once a day.  That lasted about 2 weeks.  I thought back to the hell I went through switching from Cymbalta to Wellbutrin and Lithium and it dawned on me that I was probably sick as a result of side effects from the increase.  On top of that my mood not only continued to suck but my functioning began to decrease as well.

I applied for Disability back in March or April, when it became apparent that I was not going to get another job. I hate that I felt like I had to do that, but I can say with certainty that my mental illness is absolutely the reason I cannot seem to keep a job.

My mood has not gotten any better over the last 2-3 weeks.  I have again - for the hundredth time - thought about killing myself.  I told Ethan I didn't think it was fair that I had to stay alive just for him and for Phoenix when I'm in so much pain.

I feel worthless because I don't think I contribute to my household in any valuable way.  I feel useless because I don't have a job to go to every day.  I feel lazy because I often can't get up off the couch to so much as put the dishes in the dishwasher.  I feel disgusting because I was working out 6 days a week, sometimes 2-3 times a day and I'm on like day 4 in a row without working out.  I feel hopeless because my history has shown what happens when I try to start a new job or am working a job and my mood significantly changes.  I feel stupid because of how many jobs I've been terminated from or asked to leave as a result of my mood, attitude or attendance problems.  I hate that I'm not a reliable person - that I flake on plans probably more often than I keep them.

Over the last few weeks I've been beating myself up more and more because of all this.  I hate who I've become.  I cry too much.  I feel like I'm a piece of shit as a person.  I have nothing of value to offer the world.  I start a whole lot of projects but rarely finish them.  I have a whole lot of ideas but never do anything with them because either I know I won't follow though or it exhausts me to even consider the amount of work I'd need to do.  I'm able to talk myself out of great ideas because I think a few steps ahead and always find an obstacle I know I won't be able to get around.

I got denied Disability, though apparently everyone does the first time.  I'm appealing the decision but I'm doing it while gritting my teeth because I hate that I am going through this process and can't just suck it up and work like a normal person.

I'm most upset because I thought I would be somebody; I thought I was going to be worth something.  I thought I would have something to offer the world other than taking up space unnecessarily.  I have always felt like I am supposed to be doing something important.  But I'm not.

So that's where I am right now.  I've been seeing my therapist weekly for several weeks now, and she says that I am too hard on myself, and that I need to treat myself the way I treat other people.  Better.  She says that I need to start asking for help.  I used to have no problem asking for help at all.  I don't know what happened, though.  I think I got so used to being self-sufficient and being able to do things myself that asking for help is sort of painful.  Not that I find asking for help weak, but I think I don't deserve the help I need.  I've asked for too much already and I don't even know what else anyone could do for me.  Maybe help get me a job doing something I find useful and have passion for?  I think I really just need someone to give me a chance.  Despite my history of fucking up the chances I have been given.

I feel pretty pathetic.  I'm unemployed - fired from my last full-time job. I filed for bankruptcy at the end of last year.  I'm on Medicaid. And now to complete the picture of the model government leach, I'm trying to get Disability.

The thing is, I'm really tired of people feeling sorry for me.  Or maybe I just don't want people to feel sorry for me because deep down I am a very strong person.  I just can't find the strength to crawl out of this very, very deep hole that I'm in and have been in for some time.

It's Not Won't, It's Can't

Apparently I have a relapse of my horrible, awful, crippling Depression this time of year every year.  Two years ago is when I checked myself into the Looney Bin.  This time last year, we had a shitload of snow and I remember because I had to drive in it to get to my initial appointment with the Mental Health Center.

I've been stable for awhile now, and so I'm supposed to see my Primary Care Physician for meds from here on out.  Also, I'm not a big fan of my psychiatrist because one time she actually YELLED at me because I looked up the side-effects of the meds I was on on the Internet because I had lost the ability to feel carbonation in carbonated drinks (go head and look it up, it's a real thing. Topamax.).  She yelled that she couldn't treat me if I was treating myself.  I'm not kidding at all when I say yell.  I left her office in tears that day.  Anyway, I feel like shit.  I feel like whatever is beyond shit.  I have once again pretty much lost the ability to function as an adult.  It's probably a good thing I was fired 3 weeks ago (oh yeah, I'll go into that in a second) or I'd probably get fired now for not being able to get up to go into work.

Anyway, I've been steadily going downhill since I got fired.  I knew I was going to be let go but that doesn't make it any less of a punch to the crotch of my pride.  I was ambivalent about taking a full-time job in the first place because as someone with a chronic major illness, I require more self-care than others and working 40 hours a week doesn't allow for that.  But I thought I'd give it a try. I missed too many days of work, apparently (jury duty, root canal, bankruptcy court, plus a surgical procedure and 1 day of being sick).  They told me it "just isn't a good fit."   I could have predicted that when I separated from this employer, it wouldn't be voluntary on my part.  Either way, I'm no longer employed.

Back to the main point.  I saw a regular doctor today.  Actually, he's a PA.  Anyway, the whole point of me seeing him was that a.) I won't be able to get in to see my psychiatrist for a few weeks anyway, and b.) she refuses to prescribe me Xanax or anything to help me sleep.  I haven't been sleeping well or much lately.  One of the really fun aspects of falling into an infinite pit of sadness and anxiety, I guess.  When I wake up in the middle of the night, it's usually because of a good old-fashioned anxiety attack.  And if I can't get to sleep, it's because my brain won't shut off.  Having had mental illness for almost half of my life I've got a shitload of tools and skills at my disposal, but for some reason they don't seem to help when I feel like I'm at the bottom of the ocean.  I've tried Mindfulness, which has been the most helpful over the last year.  I've tried distraction.  I've tried writing.

I was supposed to go to the Denver Coroner's Office yesterday to do a day of morgue shadowing (which is without a doubt my favorite thing of all time), but the night before, I could not sleep.  Every time I thought about having to wake up and put clothes on and drive down to Denver and look for parking, I could feel my heart start racing.  I had two anxiety attacks in 2 hours.  The biggest symptom I have when I have an anxiety attack is waves of nausea, and we all know how fun it is when you feel like you're going to throw up.  By 1am (I got in bed at 8:30, for reference), I decided to just go ahead and call and cancel, because even if I finally went to sleep, I'd have to get up at 5:30am to get ready and at that point I know I would call and cancel, and if I tried to stay up all night and just go anyway, I would be miserable.  As soon as I called, I felt immense relief.  Then I spent the day watching horror movies on the couch.  Literally, all day.  Got in bed at 7pm.  About the middle of the day yesterday I did make the appointment to see my regular doctor today to see if he'd help me get any relief.

When I saw the PA today, I told him I was relapsing and that I am THISFUCKINGCLOSE to checking myself back into the Looney Bin and he said that maybe I should.  All I'm looking for is some relief.  I told him my psychiatrist won't prescribe me anything but Klonapin for my anxiety and she won't give me anything to help me sleep (this is true, and I do understand due to addiction and stuff, but I don't have an addictive personality).  I just need it long enough get some sleep and try to relax enough to clear my head.  Also, just having it helps decrease my anxiety because I know that I have relief at my fingertips if I need it.  He said he doesn't prescribe those things, either.  And then he asked if I've been exercising, to which I answered, "I can hardly get out of bed to brush my teeth."  Then I got the usual, "if you could exercise a little every day, that would help with your anxiety and your depression symptoms, better than any medication can."  Had I been feeling more normal, I would have been more sarcastic with him.  I should have asked him to take a look at me, as I rolled out of bed, brushed my teeth, put my contacts in and went.  I didn't even do anything with my hair.  Which I put up after I got out of the shower Tuesday night.

My Bestie is a maniac for exercise and I'd give anything to be like her.  Exercise is something she just does every day, like how some people drink coffee when they get up, or brushing your teeth in the morning.  It's just part of the routine.  But this morning when I was trying to wake up, I literally considered canceling my doctor's appointment because I didn't think I could get out of bed.  The thought of getting ready and going to the gym is absolutely paralyzing.  I'm worried that maybe I'm borderline agoraphobic because the idea of having to put different clothes on and leave the house for any reason makes my heart rate increase.  I know that exercise helps.  For the 6-8 weeks I was running 3-4 times a week over the summer, my anxiety attacks stopped altogether.  100%.  And I learned that I loved running.  It didn't matter how much it hurt my legs, I almost couldn't stop running because I loved it so much.  I was running about 5K every other day.  It's not that I won't exercise.  It's that I can't.  I'm stuck in my little bubble of unhappiness right now.  It's not forever and I know that, but right now, the best I can do is anything that doesn't cause me guilt, or make me hate myself any more than I already do.  All I CAN do right now is the bare minimum.  Waking up and moving from my bed to the couch.  Not letting the dishes pile up in the sink.  Making sure the cat and dog have food and water.  Exercising isn't a won't right now.  It's a can't.  Because I will when I can.  I'll probably even enjoy it, especially if I can bring Phoenix along because I can tell my immobility is not good for him, either.

What makes me angry is the apathy and near-ignorance that my doctor showed me today.  I thought we were past the point of stigmatizing mental illness within the medical community.  Don't they like, have to take classes now on how not to make you feel like an idiot when you tell a doctor you simply cannot do something because of your mental illness?  It's not a matter of me not wanting to exercise.  I fucking want to exercise.  I just CAN'T right now.  If I could exercise, knowing it would make me feel better, wouldn't I??  Jesus.  You know what?!?  I haven't had an alcoholic beverage in three days because I know that drinking will make me feel worse.  Isn't that doing something to help myself?  I have a chemical imbalance IN MY BRAIN that I can't just fix by trying harder.

For years now, I've been doing my best not to make myself feel like shit for having an illness that no one can see.  It made sense to me the first time someone told me to look at my illness like someone who has diabetes.  Their bodies don't make the insulin they need to survive, so they have to inject insulin into their bodies every single day in order to survive.  I have to take medication and do things for myself every day to make sure that I don't go home and hurt myself or kill myself.

What the actual fuck.  I'm supposed to just go exercise!!  It's that easy!!




Fuck.  It's like I'm not even trying.