The way we live today, in this crazy, busy world with crazy schedules it’s hard to find time for yourself.
Sometimes I just need some time. Time to relax and heal. Time to process. Time to think and breathe. Time to rest and really rest. With my schedule I can’t always get that.
Today was an instance of overload. I went to my gyno and for news that I didn’t want to hear, it made me angry. Things aren’t happening how I want them to. I thought I would be pregnant by now. And yet there is still no progress there. There’s too many factors that he wants to consider first, things that he wants to work on first before we really start pushing hormones. I understand, logically – the logical side of me can see he’s being a good doctor. But the raw emotional side of me says that I hate him and he’s wasting my time.
I needed time to process.
Then I had an anxiety attack, different from a panic attack.
I needed time to get over that.
I called into work. They got mad. I felt bad. But I needed time. And then I needed time to get over then getting made at me.
I fell asleep and woke up in a panic attack. Shaking, heart racing, I felt like I was dying. I felt suicidal. The voices in my head saying I deserved to die.
Marcus talked me through everything. He was calming and helped me take my medicine to calm the voices in my head. We’ve been resting since then.
I just need time to rest and maybe I’ll be better tomorrow, if not, I just need more time.
It’s been two months since I’ve seen my doctor. I didn’t think it was that bad until I got in there this morning and started talking, then I realized that a lot has happened in the last two months.
I’m on my second job since the hospital, I left due to my hours being unsteady, but I’m supposed to be prn. The first job I got after, was an hour away from my home, starting at 6 am. Meaning I had to leave before 5 to get there on time to work twelve hours to drive an hour home. So this new one that I started, I’m working the night shift. And I haven’t worked night shift in four years. To he honest, I like it. It’s just taking some time to adjust. Like today, I haven’t slept but an hour, maybe two. But I’m feeling ok.
I’m having intrusive thoughts about my legal mother and fears of people breaking into my home and raping me. Like this morning, I couldn’t differentiate the dogs scratching on the door, I thought someone was trying to break in. And then the cat scared me and sent me over the edge. All I could see were two men coming to take me away with me screaming and Marcus being asleep. So I woke him up and we talked, we played “real or not real” until I felt better. And then we left for the appointment.
We got there and she asked how I was doing. I told her that I was better than I had been. I’ve been up and down. I’ve been anxious. I’ve been spending a lot of money. Which, then she had to ask how much I spent, i said like $200. Marcus said it was more than that. And she asked if we were able to pay our bills, to which I had to say no.
We talked about Marcus going into the hospital and how traumatizing that was for me. And she said she wasn’t following me. “Didn’t you want him to get help?” Of course I did. I’m the one who took him to the er, but I wanted to take him to the facility. And I don’t like being alone, he’s part of my routine, he’s my rock. I need him. I told her that they took him away from me and it felt like he died. She didn’t understand why I was so upset.
We talked about donna and the nightmares that she’s in. The intrusive thoughts about her.
We talked about my anxiety which is at a higher level than it should be. Increasing panic attacks.
We’re testing my blood for my thyroid and prolactin, and my annual labs.
So we’re increasing my Zoloft. She wants me to see a counselor. Im not sure how I feel about seeing a counselor.
And that’s the latest.
It’s hard to go through depression. It’s hard to have suicidal thoughts. It’s hard to be put in a hospital. It’s even harder to get back to reality.
In the hospital, everything is easy. People tell you what time to go to bed, what time to get up, what time to eat, take your medicine, when you go to therapy, when you can go outside. You’re cut off from social media and the outside world, there’s a whole world living inside a building. And it has its own schedule, its own ebb and flow.
The reality of the world is that life doesn’t work like that. There is no one to tell you when to do something. No one to make sure you’re following your meds. Mostly you’re on your own. And then there’s work, life in general and the stresses that brings, social media, and your very own mental illness to deal with.
When the doctor tells you for the first time that you’re bipolar, it can be jarring. It’s not something that people want to hear. But it doesn’t have to be something that brings you down. It doesn’t have to label you. It just means that you have to manage the world differently, keep up with the medications and doctors visits, go to therapy if that helps you, make sure you get adequate sleep, eat right, things like that. But you learn to manage with that. And you can. It’s been done before, you can do it.
And you don’t have to do it alone. I’m here. I’m here for you. I’m here to help. I’m here to make sure you take your meds and eat, but you have to let me in too.
I’ve been in the hospital, I know how low stress it was compared to out here. I know what it’s like to not want to face the reality of going back to work. I also know how it feels to not be able to do it, not be able to face it. And I can tell you that it’s ok.
The point is, I’m here. And I’m ready and willing to help when you’re ready.
If only it were that simple. Pick up the shattered pieces that litter the dusty floor of my psyche. Maybe then everything could make sense. But right now, nothing makes sense. Nothing feels right. And I don’t know what to do.
I’ve always been the one on the other side. The one getting treatment, the one being in a crisis. Now, now I’m the caregiver. And now, well now I’m stuck because no one will give me any information about my loved one. Now, I feel lost, confused, bruised, broken, sick, tired, and numb, all at the same time. Nothing makes sense anymore.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I don’t feel like doing anything. Writing this, well, this is just a journal, words spilling out of my fractured mind. I feel fractured. Did I break?
I’m supposed to be strong. Be strong he said. I told him the same. I told him I was fine. But I’m not. I’m anything but fine. I can’t even fake a smile. I try, and it just comes out as a grimace. There is no joy. No light.
I’m surrounded in darkness right now. I don’t see the light. There is no light. I feel like there may never be light again. I try to sorround myself with people so I won’t be alone, because when I’m alone the shadows are there. They came back just yesterday. Playing on the edges of my vision, but I saw them.
I’m slowly going insane, aren’t I? But I’m not allowed to. It’s not about me. It’s not my time. I’m supposed to be strong. I’m supposed to be the one to carry us right now. To keep going no matter what. And I can’t. I can’t move. I can barely breathe.
Crying… Well it happens whether I want it to or not. I’m not in control of my tears anymore. They comes as they please, and I just have to sit there in the waves as the tide of sadness rolls in. At least I’m not screaming anymore.
I hit myself. I couldn’t control my hands. I broke. Something in me snapped. I had to just ride it out. There was no one to help me. Just me. Even the cat left me.
Get it together, honey, they say. Pull yourself together. If only they knew just how impossible that seems right now. He’s the glue that holds me together. Without him, I’m just pieces lying on the ground.