YOU ARE NOT ALONE - A companion online community discussion board for The Mental Illness Happy Hour podcast with Paul Gilmartin

5-17-14
Dearest Diary, (ha, I get a kick out of just writing that)

Ok, so I realize a majority of my posts/writings/poems/prose/art have been filled with vitriol and negativity lately. I’m going to try to combat that, though I may not always be successful. Things have been hard, to say the least. I was hospitalized again from March 31st through April 16th for suicidal ideation. During my stay I finally admitted that I had been molested somewhere between age 5-7. It took nearly 3 weeks(or if you want to get technical 25 years) for me to stop denying it, but the flashbacks and body memories were getting more and more difficult to ignore. Thankfully I realized this while in a safe place. I’m not sure what would have happened otherwise, with me being so unstable. The first day I recognized what happened I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I was so physically and mentally exhausted I could hardly function. I told no one, still thinking I could keep it to myself, and that if I just acknowledged it, everything would get better. The next day, I wrote it down. Got it out on paper the next morning. It was like some horrible secret that was TOO horrible to be spoken aloud. But I did speak it aloud that day. To my psychiatrist and therapist. Things didn’t really get better, but I wasn’t walking around pretending everything was fine. I was so unstable…one day I’d feel like I was ready to get out. The next, I couldn’t stop crying, and after that I’d be so enraged all I wanted to do was hit someone. I managed to control myself for the most part. But I think I freaked my parents out quite a bit, calling them in such different states.

Anyway, I ended up staying an extra week to do an EMDR session, which helped tremendously. It hasn’t solved everything, but I can talk about it now. I can speak of it without panicking. Most of the time. It has greatly affected me, though. I’m still dealing with the fall out. I’m working to feel safe in the world again, and to rebuild my sense of self worth. I’m working to want to live, and trying to choose to live everyday, even though it is fricken hard. I wish I was stronger, honestly, and that things didn’t affect me so much. I wish I’d done the disability paper work this week. I wish I knew where my life was headed and how things turn out. I wish I knew a lot of things. I want to be hopeful. I want to just wake up and want to live. But I’m not there yet. I’m getting there. That comment inspires a strange sort of anxiety and discouragement, because I soo want to be done. To be cured, to be fixed. The knowledge that I still have a long way to go feels discouraging. But people keep telling me I’ve made progress. I just can’t see it. Well, sometimes I can. Other times I feel like I’m stuck in mud and moving just makes things worse.

The last two weeks have been…pretty terrible. My depression is fighting back, and it’s fighting dirty. I didn’t handle things well. I choose to fall back into old habits of sleeping a lot, not eating and ridiculously negative self talk. I just couldn’t feel anything other than a numbing deadness inside my chest. Dear god, how I hate that feeling. Which means for the past two weeks I haven’t gotten anything done. Well, I haven’t gotten paperwork that needs to be done, done. I suppose in the long run I’ve done quite a bit. I’ve continued to go to the outpatient program everyday, and to hang out with a few friends. I’ve just avoided quite a few things. (Bills, especially…ick…) But I’m choosing right now to not do that this week. I’m choosing to complete that dang paperwork and pick up my paystub. It really isn’t that hard. I’ve just felt so useless I couldn’t even make myself do those small things.
I’m quite proud of myself today. Today is a good day. I cleaned my room and down stairs, and managed to ride a wave of anxiety without taking my anit-anxiety medication. I’ve just proven to myself that I can do it. At least, I can do some small things.

Funny, but I’m afraid this journal is too hopeful. The way things have been going…well…they have been very down. Yesterday I was wondering what the point of being on the earth was if I was so useless I couldn’t fill out a few pages of paperwork. Today, I’ve only had a few hours of soul numbing heart hurt, which is a definite improvement. I just so desperately want to hold on to this feeling. But it is just that; a feeling. It will come and go. Knowing that makes me both hopeful and absolutely filled with dread. I’ve been doing DBT, and we are working on Distress Tolerance. We’ve talked about how it is possible to “ride the wave” of an emotion. I suppose they are right, but that is so much easier said than done.
I haven’t cut since the 31st of March. I’ve wanted to, but I went out and bought a bunch of fake tattoos to put on my arm instead. It isn’t nearly as satisfying, but it seems to help me get through the moment. Or the hour. I may still want to after I’m done applying them, but I don’t want to ruin the tattoos, as silly as they are.

To be honest, I’ve just been tired these last few weeks. Tired of trying. I ashamed to say that I gave in to those feelings. I want to be able to fight them, but when you fight them nearly every moment of every day, it just becomes so exhausting. The shame that goes along with that and the disapproval from my family isn’t particularly helpful. They are supportive for the most part, but I think they are irritated with me for my severe lack of progress/motivation the last 2 weeks. At least, my mother is. Jesus, that woman. I love her, but her telling me what I should do just makes me not want to do it. Even if it is good advice that would help me in the long run. Doesn't make much logical sense.

I’m thinking of moving back in with my parents (or visiting). Arizona no less. At least, until I get the disability thing figured out. It may only be for a month. We will see how things go. I’m a bit worried about it, and being such a burden to them. But I had a conversation with my father yesterday that really helped.

I’ve been triggered by a lot of things lately, and have the bad habit of triggering myself just to “get it over with”. It’s like I want to sprint through the healing process so I can just be done. But sprinting through a marathon never does anyone any good. I trigger myself because I believe the more I do it the more used to it I’ll get and the better I’ll be at dealing with it. This has not proven to be the case, as the last few weeks have proven. I think a few triggers may be good…like as in distress tolerance, but I often go overboard. I push myself to a level of crisis and anxiety that it takes me weeks to come down from. Huh. I just realized that’s what I’ve been doing. And why it’s been such a crappy 2 weeks. I really need to work on that. Yet another thing to add to the list. *Sigh*.
At any rate, this has made me feel better. I’ve been avoiding journaling. I’m afraid of what it will bring up. But this hasn’t been so bad. Then again, it’s a good day. We will see what the bad days bring. Hopefully there will be less of them in the future. And the won’t be nearly as dark.
--Lawlessness45

EMDR can help with negative self-talk. I am glad because you deserve to love yourself, because you are worthy and deserving of love. Please take care. You are going through some of the toughest stuff out there.

For some reason I'm drawn to your posts tonight. I'd like to send you a big hug. I know I could use one so maybe you could too. I hope you're feeling better.

Thank you Claddagh. I appreciate the support. It is always helpful, and hopeful, to have and hear. Geesh. Thats a lot of h's. Ha.

6-23-14

Dearest Diary,
Well…It’s been a while since I’ve posted. Or even been on here. In that time I’ve quit my job and gone to live with my parents for a bit. I’m just doing my best not to end up in the hospital. I don’t really know what to do at this point. Having supportive parents is great. Knowing they care about me enough to let me stay with them for a while amazing.

Being here has helped. It’s given me time to figure out where my paranoia was coming from. I was just walking around sure I was going to die. Any second, someone or something was going to kill me. I could barely drive. And letting other people drive me places didn’t help because I’d be clinging to the seat for dear life, just waiting to hear screaming metal and smell burning rubber. I was starting to stay in my house all the time it was so bad. I discovered a lovely medication I was taking was causing that intense anxiety. Quite by accident. I just missed it one day, and the next day I could drive and talk and be around people no problem. I then talked to my doctors, and one of the side effects that I’d failed to notice was anxiety and paranoia. I just spent the last 4 weeks trying to figure out what was wrong with me and why I could hardly speak to someone without feeling like I was going to cry or why going to the store to get a gallon of milk made me feel like I was going to have a panic attack. I don’t really have panic attacks. I’ve never had them. So just developing this crippling anxiety all of the sudden was a jarring experience. I just wish I had figured this out sooner…maybe then I could’ve actually enjoyed my brothers wedding instead of just hiding in the corner doing my best to look like I was having a good time. It’s terrible. You look at the pictures and even though I’m smiling, you can tell it’s strained and I look really exhausted. Which I suppose I was. Being around some 200 people and having to entertain all weekend when you are in that state is exhausting.

But, I’m here now. Staying at my parents house. Trying to figure out what to do next. I quit my job and finally gave in and applied for food stamps. Which I should’ve done when I was working. I was only making enough to spend 50 bucks a month on groceries anyway…it would’ve helped. But even that was a nightmarish process. Good god, they lost my paper work at least 3 times. But it is done, so one thing down.

After this last hospitalization I was convinced I just couldn’t do it anymore. Couldn’t work, mainly. Ending up in the hospital 2 times in 3 months is a pretty good indicator that something is wrong. And I felt like that for a good 2 months. I was ridiculously unstable when I got out. Not wanting to die, but not really wanting to live. I kinda still feel like that. Like living is just the “responsible” thing to do. Like it’s what I have to do, not what I really want to do. But then there are days where that is quite the opposite. Where I’m like, “this isn’t so bad.” Like, I have days where I want to work. Where I think I can work. Where I think, “if I just try one more time….just one more time, and if this one time doesn't work I’ll admit I need help and give in.” But then there are so many days where I just feel terrible and al l want to do is sleep. Being with my parents makes that difficult. I can no longer hole up in my room and sleep the day away. When I was working that is pretty much all I would do. I would work, then come home and sleep. For like 12 hours. Here that isn’t really an option so I struggle through the day, and most days that’s a good thing. It sucks, especially when all you can think about is curling into a ball in the nearest bed and pulling the covers over your head. But I’m trying desperately to stay productive. I feel like that’s the only way I’ll keep from going insane.

I’m doing what I can to help around the house. And helping my mother with her business. So I’m being productive. Just a lower level of productivity than I’m used to. I just don’t understand myself. When I’m working, and in life in general, all I can think is “if I just had a break I could figure all this out.” Now I have a break and not being busy is really difficult. Not as difficult as being busy, and going to work and wanting to hang myself with an extension cord. But still…I just feel so unproductive. So useless. So there is my brain. Screaming at me to get a job. To throw myself back into the work place full force. Just like I’ve done for the past 3 months. Get hospitalized. Get out. Go to work 2 days later. Work. Work until I get hospitalized again. Get out again. Go back to work the next day. Act like nothing ever happened. Work. Rinse and repeat.

I know this cycle isn’t working, but some part of me wants to continue it. Crazy, isn’t it? It’s just like….thats what you do. You don’t stop. You don’t take time. You have to keep going, no matter how shitty you feel. So now that I am taking time, it just feels so…wrong. I’m afraid if I sit down, for just a little while, and stop and slow things down, I’ll never get back up. I’ll just stay in this place of stagnation. Living with my parents. Not doing anything worthwhile. Being this terrible disappointment. I desperately want to have a life. To have my own life. To be stable. To feel good for more than 1 day at a time. But I also feel like this is my life. Like this is as good as it gets. This low level depression. This not really wanting to die, but not being excited to live either. This….just going through the motions. Like this is as good as it gets. But I know that’s not true. Or some part of me knows it’s not true. Because I remember times when things where good. When I felt good for whole weeks. Not the manic type of good. But the real type of good. The normal type of good. The “stable, I can hold a job and socialize and relax and be alone and be happy” type of good. The “having a bad day is just a bad day and doesn't dictate my week” type of good. But it’s been years since I’ve felt that way. Years. The idea of getting to that point now just seems so far away. Especially with everything that’s going on. I don’t want to give up hope. But right now all I can do is accept where I’m at, and wait for things to get better. And work toward them getting better. Even though doing all the right things doesn’t always help. And I guess I’m doing that. I’m trying to be productive. I just filled out a volunteer application. I want to see if I can handle it. If I can, I’m going to try working maybe 2 days a week. And if I can handle that, maybe more. Baby steps. Even if my brain is screaming at me to do otherwise…
Lawlessness45

lawlessness45 wrote:This low level depression. This not really wanting to die, but not being excited to live either. This….just going through the motions. Like this is as good as it gets. But I know that’s not true. Or some part of me knows it’s not true. Because I remember times when things where good. When I felt good for whole weeks. Not the manic type of good. But the real type of good. The normal type of good.

Please remember this. Sending you good-vibes and internet-hugs. Please be kind to yourself, you deserve it, you are very worthwhile. All the best, we here are cheering for you and for your greatest today and tomorrow.

Thanks Manuel Moe. You are always so encouraging.

6-29-14
Dear Diary,

So there it is. The can of worms has been opened. And I realize I’ve been using this time like a vacation. Treated it as a get away. Which I desperately needed, and need. But, I’ve been avoiding things too. I realize this now. I haven’t wanted to deal with anything. To bring anything “unpleasant” with me. So I’ve avoided all things unpleasant. Except for my crippling depression. That has managed to follow me. But people keep telling me I should use this time to heal. I don’t even know what that means or looks like. I’ve been so broken down by life that I’ve spent the last 2 months trying to simply piece myself back together. Or maybe hold myself together is a more appropriate term. Like I am a fine piece of china, with a thousand minuscule cracks, and if one piece falls, the entire structure is weakened. And eventually, that whole structure collapses under its own weight. That’s how I’ve felt. Fragile. Damaged. Dangerous. Dangerous in so many ways. Close to death, mainly.
But now that the seal has been cracked, and the action mentioned again, it’s like everything in my life has been brought into sharp focus, no longer a part of the relief or background. It’s like….oh yeah…I live here. I’ve felt….so removed. Here, but removed. Like none of this was real life. Because in so many ways it isn’t. I’m protected from a majority of my bills for a short time. I’m not working or exposed to the stress that produces.
I guess you could say things have been leading up to this. I just kept thinking, “if only the medication would work…if it would just work…then I could get my life straightened out. Then I could start working on myself.” But, I think that maybe I have to start working on myself first, which is a terrifying and exhausting thought. I mean, I went to a psych eval the other day and the guy told me that there are certain personality traits typically associated with bipolar that can be worked on to improve the condition. I didn’t even know what to think about this. He suggested that other people don’t freak out as much about things. And I believe he is right. I just don’t know how to be any other way. I suppose that is what I need to learn, but I have no idea how to go about it. I suppose a therapist could help me with that, but I have such a good relationship established with Beth…I just don’t want to start all over. This is what it is about. Moving here would be starting over. And starting over doesn't always fix things. I need to go back and fix the mess I left behind me. Or try. Just one more time. Try to make things work. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to live here. I want to try things out back there, with me, normal. Healthy. Able to do bills and stick to a budget and afford food. All of that. If I could go back and do that, then that would be life. I could live. That’s what I want. I want a normal life. A life that I can manage. Sure, a life with stress, but not so much stress I have a break down. All life IS is stress. I know that. But life doesn’t seem to do this so some people. So that psych must be right. I have personality traits that make me more susceptible to the negative impacts of stress. I’m not sure what good knowing this dose. Not sure what to really do with any of this information. I have a support system here, but I have a therapist back there that I think could help. I don’t want to be here doing nothing for another month. I can’t be here doing nothing. Maybe I should go through that terrible DBT workbook again. The book itself isn’t terrible. Just the 6 week outpatient program associated with the book is terrible. I brought it with me thinking it could help me, but I haven’t touched it. I’ve avoided looking at it even. Just because I didn’t want to disturb the pond. I am finally in a place of relative calm, and digging everything back up will cause waves. I don’t want waves, but I think I’m ready to deal with them now. Or at least acknowledge that there are going to be waves and still move forward.

Lawlessness45

Hey Lawlessness. I just wanted to give you a hug. What you're going through sounds really hard. I know what it's like to walk around all day with this nagging thought that it would be better to just die. I know all about that feeling. And it sucks! And it sucks moving back in with parents! At least it did for me. Sure I could save some money but damn. Anyway. My thoughts aren't collected enough to give you the proper response but nearly everything you said I could relate to. My heart is truly going out to you. I'm not sure your exact situation but it sounds like you have a therapist elsewhere that you liked but are not near? And you don't want to start all over with someone new? Perhaps there's a depression support group near you then..it sounds like you're in a space where you can get some work done and it sounds like you have steadied yourself enough to maybe move a little forward with some inner work. It seems like it's a good time for you to reach out and do the hard stuff since you don't have to worry about a job or bills so much at the moment. Maybe it's still too soon though, I get that too. Only you will know when it's time to make the move towards healing further.
Whatever you do I hope you keep finding reasons to find love in yourself for yourself and I hope you stick around. I'm sending you a big hug and know that this gal knows how you feel and I wish you strength, and love, and good days.

Ugh, I know that feeling of dread not completing a mental health workbook. Writing in a diary is a good form of work, so don't be so hard on yourself, lawlessness45. Please take care.