Sad and Lonely

Today I drove on the freeway for the first time in two months. I don;t know how I ever got comfortable with doing that. It is hundreds of people, not all intelligent, driving huge machines that can kill people at high rates of speed controlled by nothing more than PAINT in the ground. It was very stressful but I made it.

Then I had an appointment with my therapist. I have decided to stay with the therapist I am seeing even though he can only see me once a week. I am comfortable with him and I trust him. Hopefully once a week will be often enough. Today was rough. We went over the whole mess that was my 15th year. Most than half my life ago. I was certain I was over all the crap that happened back then. I was a teenager. Who gives a crap what happened back then? Everyone's high school life sucked, right? Did I have it worse than others? Maybe, but, again, who cares?

I have never been one who believed in blaming adult problems on childhood troubles. It goes so against the Catholic and American ideal of personal responsibility. My therapist today said he "[felt] so sad" that I went through the things I was telling him about. The whole appointment hit a nerve but I'm not sure what kind. I am left feeling lost and sad and a little raw.

On top of that I am feeling lonely because today was a day of celebration and I could not thank a hero directly as I intended. But that is my egotism, wanting to celebrate the safety of a man for whom I and my family have prayed every night for a year. It hurts because it is indicative of the family I feel I have lost.

I am, I have found, fundamentally unlovable. I don't know what to do with that.

God Bless all who read this.

Going home

Well, I have not been home more than overnight (and that only twice) since the day after Christmas. Today the kids and I are moving home. I am both excited and terrified. I think I am ready to be alone with the kids and stay along overnight. The thoughts are still there but I don't think I'll do anything. I have gotten pretty good at managing my "as needed" medications so my mood stays pretty even. If you can spare a prayer I would appreciate it.

God Bless all who read this.

Sick as a dog = good?

I am so sick. Big bad ugly hairy sinus infection. When I can speak I either sound like a man or Peter Brady. I desperately want to crawl in bed and sleep. Wanna know why this is good? Because being sick is the only reason I want to crawl in bed and go to sleep. I don't want to escape stress or my kids or just life in general. I am just sick.



This may sound weird to y'all but this is a big deal for me. I feel normal sick. The fact that normal is in the equation makes me smile.



My psychiatrist and case manager are keeping me in the partial hospitalization program for a couple more days because I had a couple of bad days earlier in the week. After that I will switch to the Intensive Outpatient Program which is 3 1/2 hours 3 times a week. I will also start going to my therapist again. I think we have my meds right. If my bouts with suicidal thoughts get any uglier than they have been this week I will have my anti-psychotic upped one more time. For now I am assuming it was the impending illness that magnified the thoughts and hoping they will settle down.



Thanks to my wonderful brother and sister-in-law, I am going on a Journey retreat next weekend. I get to spend 2 1/2 days and 2 nights immersing myself in scripture and my relationship with God. How awesome does that sound? I am so looking forward to it.



I had an interesting experience earlier this week. On my one really, really bad night, the devil got to me. Not via the dark thoughts, though they were there, but through a human weakness. I am not willing to disclose this particular weakness as I am wholly embarrassed by my behavior. However, in retrospect I can so see that he was working on me and, this time, won. Now this is not to say, "the devil made me do it!" I have free will and I chose to sin but I have never been so aware of the devil's direct influence as I was the other night. I am now very much on guard and am waiting to see how he will try to lead me astray next. It is strange to experience the devil so viscerally. I will be sure to let you know what becomes of all this.

God Bless all who read this.

Don't know how much I will be posting

I have come to a point in my treatment where I am working through some ugly guilt and anger that involve someone very close to me. I cannot afford for that person to know anything that I am thinking and it is all I want to write about right now so I am stuck. This blog has been such a great place for me to throw all my thoughts out and sort through them. I really wish I could use this as a device for dealing with this but I just can't chance it.

I don't really have much else to write about as that is the focus of things right now. I did discover today how manipulative I can be at work and how disgusting I find that. I hadn't been aware I was doing it. Now that I know I am ashamed of myself but I am focusing on the fact that I can now avoid it in the future because I am aware of it.

I'll be back when things are more settled.

God Bless all who read this.

9:52 pm is staying up late?

I feel like an old lady!

OK, not really, but this really is late for me lately :-)

I think I am going to have to give in to the fruity-ness. Unless I can find dirt on the credentials of the guy whose talk about neurobiology I watched today, I am going to have to practice the "positive self talk" they have been pushing on me for weeks now. It sounds like such gobbledygook hippy crap. But then this doctor explains how new neuropathways have to be built and the body's instinctive refusal to allow these new pathways has to be fought.

I am trying to remind myself that Christianity is thought of by some as gobbledygook hippy crap. A God who loves unconditionally? A God who sacrifices his only Son to save our sorry sinning selves? A book that tells us exactly how to live our lives in order to be happy? Perfect happiness for all eternity just for believing all this? It sounds pretty feel good, way too easy too.

The one thing I like about what this guy was saying is that it involves tapping into the endlessly, amazingly intricate aspects of God's creation in order to leave the darkness behind and again live in the light.

We shall see but.....I am hopeful.

It is amazingly good to type that and mean it.

God Bless all who read this.

Out again continued...

The rest of the stay was good psyche-wise but crappy treatment-wise. All the nurses agreed with me that Dr. A**hole was punishing me b ecause he was pissed off that he screwed up. The statement, "Dr. A**hole can be like that," was made independently by multiple staff members.

I have already filed a grievance regarding the doc's behavior. I am still shockingly angry about it. Hopefully the powers that be at the hospital will respond appropriately and save me the trouble of reporting him to a greater power in the state.

Being out has been really good for the most part. I am having to relearn patience with my children which is really hard. I am still feeling good for the most part. I am back in the Partial Hospitalization program. I am finding more useful and less...condescending than it felt before.

Prayers are still the things I need most. I have a long history of pain with the Church that has come to the surface through this process. Somehow getting well has made me feel farther from the Lord than I felt when I was so far in the darkness. I know He will give me the grace to get back to Him but it is hard right now.

I thank God for His myriad blessings in my life.

God Bless all who read this.

Out again

So I spent the past week or so inpatient at the behavioral health hospital again. I will give you a brief rundown of why I went and what happened there.

The 23rd I had my appointment with the priest who does deliverance rites. It was awful for a million reasons, the worst being that I had oppressive, vivid visions of throwing myself out the chapel window. That whole evening I was very stressed and was having terrible thoughts of throwing myself into traffic.

The 24th started off bad. My dad was on me for something my husband did when I was already having the thoughts so I went out to the busy street right by their house. Unfortunately (well, fortunately actually) the traffic was only going like 25 MPH because of the fog so all it would have done was break my leg and freaked them out so instead I stabbed myself repeatedly with a safety pin (as I had done the day before in the chapel) to focus my brain and calm down. At my outpatient program that day they could see something was wrong and decided to commit me. In the hospital I met with my Psychiatrist, Dr. A**hole, and he agreed to increase my anti-psychotic medicine. I discovered at bedtime that he did not.

On the 25th I was transferred from the geriatric floor where I had been waiting for a bed in ITU or CBU. I got a room in ITU and discovered that a gal who had been there during my last stay was still there so that was nice. I met with Dr. A**hole again, he again agreed to up the med. Come bedtime, I discover he has still not ordered the increase. On this night I snuck a plastic knife out of the lunch room and I attempted to slice open my wrist. It was extremely painful and the knife couldn't get through after the first few layers.

On the 26th I felt like all the life had left me. I didn't want to see anyone or talk to anyone. I literally sat around staring at nothing if and when I got out of bed. Dr. A**hole visited again and complained about my behavior and agreed, yet again, to increase my Seroquil. I figured out that my lower stomach has no feeling from my c-sections and would therefore be an ideal place cut myself open in order to kill myself. I snuck more knives from the lunch room (even though staff knew about my previous attempt, no one did anything about it) and started to cut open my lower belly in the shower that night. It did not hurt but it was very difficult. It was taking too long so I had to stop my work and get out of the shower and go to bed. At bedtime (which is when they give meds) I discovered that Dr. A**hole had once again failed to increase my medicine. I threw a bit of a fit and they called him at home and he ordered a 50 mg increase even though he had promised a 100mg increase.

On the 27th I was in the deepest, darkest hole I have ever been in. I didn't care about anything or anyone. I wouldn't even let my husband bring my kids to see me. Dr. A**hole and my case manager came to visit me together and asked how I was doing. I told them I no longer cared if they kept me or sent me home, I had a plan (for suicide) either way. The doctor asked me what my plan was. I hesitated to answer saying that if I told him he would go in my stuff and take my implements away. Doc told me I had to be straight with him so I explained my plan about my desensitized lower abdomen and using plastic knives from the lunch room that night. He agreed to order the additional 50mg increase in my anti-psychotic medicine and he actually did it. This conversation was held after lunch so I expected to not be allowed to go to the lunch room for dinner, but I did get to go. I was able to get a second knife (I already had one from lunch that day) during dinner. I figured I would be put on line of sight and would have to figure a way to sneak or wait until I went home. But I was not put on line of sight. Dr. A**hole and my case manager had not told anyone about my plan. I know this sounds sacrilegious now, but at the time it was like a sign from God that I was doing the right thing. Living was the selfish option and He had cleared the way for me to what needed to be done. So I went in the bathroom and got to work. And boy was it work. Plastic knives were not meant for this purpose and it took forever. I made it through nurses checking in on me twice without them noticing the blood at my feet and the knife in my hand. A couple hours after I had started, the new shift nurse came in, opened the bathroom door and caught me. I was taken by ambulance to the associated Med Center's ER where I slept while they stitched me up with no anesthesia. When we got back to my unit, I was put in an observation room to sleep for the rest of the night.

On the 29th I woke up to my case manager asking why I did it when I had been doing so well. Yes, the same case manager I had told my exact detailed plan to didn't understand why I had done it. Then my breakfast was brought in. No utensils. Not even a spoon. Now I understand not letting me go to the lunch room anymore (duh) and I get taking away my knife and fork, but taking away my spoon was just punitive and nasty. They expected me to eat cream of wheat with my fingers. I had to eat my eggs with my fingers. Like an animal. A little later Dr. A**hole comes in asking why I did it. I reminded him that I had told him exactly what I was going to do. He got very angry and said I was a borderline personality (I am actually diagnosed major depressive) and I was trying to manipulate him. He said I only tried to kill myself to show him up. Can you fricking believe that? What and arrogant son of a b****! I explained that my reasons had been the same from the beginning: living was the selfish option because my kids would be better off without me. He walked away.

There is more to the story but I am going to play games with my hubby right now.

God Bless all who read this.