Er…

I’m tired and lethargic and quite fed up. I’m so looking forward to next week, when I have a week off work.

I have a review with a new psychiatrist on Wednesday – and guess what! I’m getting nervous. What a surprise, eh? I’m not sure I’ll be able to present a coherent picture of what’s going on inside my head. My moods change almost daily, so it’s like seeing the world through ever-changing coloured lenses. But at that same time my mood changes are more subtle than your average Bipolar Joe. So I’m worried that maybe they’ll just see me as a waste of time as I’m not suicidal. And perhaps I am. I should just pull myself together and enjoy life.

Worry worry worry. It’s what I do.

I need to review the Mirtazapine. I’ve had some persistent depressions recently. Perhaps the dose should be increased to higher than 30mg – but then my cravings for crappy food might increase too. Along with the other side effects. I mean, 30mg is making it hard enough already to get out of bed in the mornings. And then there’s the dizziness and headaches. I love that, gotta tell ya. My blood pressure drops when I stand up, so I’ve got all the unpleasant effects of being drunk, without the merriment. Apparently the whole random blood pressure thing is one of Mirtazapine’s not-quite-so-common side effects – well, that makes me feel special.

I’m in the office on my own today, which is making it slightly difficult to do any work. I could just ponce about on the Internet all day, writing pointless twaddle on here. But I figure it would be better to work my arse off for a while and then go home early so I can do some painting. Trees. I love trees, so I’m going to have a go at painting them. Maybe that will make me feel more alive.

And I’m eating grapes and trying to pretend that they’re satisfying. I’d rather have a chocolate muffin.

Inexplicable Giggling

Hello all! Thanks for all the lovely comments on my last post – I can’t possibly describe how much you all helped.

My mood is going back up into the clouds today, which I’m thoroughly enjoying. I can tell I’m in the middle of a mood change, because I’ve started giggling at the smallest things. And I’ve been dancing to an unknown song in my head. It’s a bit of a struggle to sit still in my office, but I’m soldiering on like a good girl.

A few updates:

• I’ve started painting again. I have some lovely acrylic paints, lots of paintbrushes, canvasses, painting mediums, and I’m having fun if nothing else.
• Last week I started writing out some wonderful Bible verses in Arabic – I realised just how effective it is to look at these verses in another language. It’s easy to skim over familiar verses and say, Ah yes, I know that one. But when I looked at them in Arabic I noticed tiny details that would usually escape me… I’ll see if I can find an example for another post soon.
• My counsellor wants me to practice a technique called mindfulness – something I have been quite skeptical about. How can I possibly force my brain to focus on one thing for any length of time? And by length of time, I mean anything longer than two seconds. However, a friend has suggested doing it as I wash the dishes. Focus completely on the act of washing the dishes, and every time I feel my mind wandering just gently pull it back to the dishes. I’ll give it a go. Apparently this is a good technique for controlling anxiety.

The whole self-esteem thing is still playing on my mind, but my brain appears to have been replaced with cotton wool, so I have nothing meaningful or profound to say about it. Needless to say, I have not made any great strides in a positive direction, but I’m trying to hold onto God’s promises in the Bible. More on that in another post And anyway, my self-esteem fluctuates according to my mood, so when I’m up, like today, I feel great about myself! I’m not fat, I’m just curvy! And curves are good. The constant mood changes mean that I see life through different coloured lenses each day.

To finish, I have been listening to this song by Casting Crowns:

over and over again for the last week or so. And then I went to music group practice on Tuesday evening for the first time in three months. Guess which song we sang? Yep, that one. Admittedly, we absolutely slaughtered it, still… The words are wonderful so I’ll pop them here:

I was sure by now
God, You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say “Amen”, and it’s still raining

As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

And I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can’t find You?

But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
“I’m with you”
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away

I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth

And I’ll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I’ve cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm

It’s Time

Hello there. I’ve not been around here much lately, as you may have noticed. I have still been reading your blogs though, if not commenting much. I have been off work for the last two weeks, which has been lovely. It’s just a shame that I have been depressed for most of it. My mood just started to lift on Thursday. Hubby and I have been up with my Dad in Edinburgh since Monday, which is so wonderful, because I don’t get to see my family much.

Hubby and I travel back down south tomorrow and I go back to work on Monday. I am not panicking about this but I do feel a certain amount of anxiety, which I am trying to quell. How to go back to daily life? The thought of a holiday propelled me through the last few weeks – what now? Now I just have to devote myself to the task of getting well.

Since January I have simply battened down the hatches, adopted the brace position and waited for the tide to ebb out. Now something within tells me it is time to start taking those small steps towards recovery. I got stomach cramps this morning just thinking about what the next few months may have in store for me. It has been a hard road so far, filled with uncertainty and fear. I am still not stable, I am not even close to being stable. I am in that nasty beginning stage of medication, where nobody has really figured out what will help me most. I am weaning myself off one anti-depressant and starting a new one, at the same time as increasing the dose of my mood stabiliser.

In spite of the uncertainty I want to move forward with my life. I am applying to start an MA in September and I really really need to be more stable for that. I need to be able to concentrate for longer than five minutes at a time. I have almost completed the application for the programme but the not-even-started supporting statement has been haunting me for weeks. Today I got down with good old pen and paper and jotted down some notes. I remembered some distant memory of passion. Something that used to drive me but which got beaten down by mental unwellness.

But it’s still there. Today it peeped shyly out from behind some dusty curtains. I smiled shyly back.

Good Friday

Long, rambling post coming up. Grab yourselves a coffee and get comfy.

Hubby and I went swimming with my family yesterday. I jumped off the top diving board! I was absolutely crapping myself but I did it. Now, this may not seem like anything much to you, but it is a lot to me. I was a wimp of a child, as my mother frequently points out. I hated swings, slides, fireworks… you name it, I was scared of it. But yesterday I climbed to the top diving board and willingly jumped off it. Yay me!

And you know what I realised? I enjoyed the experience because it is nice to have a definable fear that I can overcome. As opposed to the constant nameless fears that I live with each day, that cause my heart to race and haunt my sleep.

My sister jumped of the second diving board, but she didn’t manage the top one. She enjoys the adrenaline rush that comes with doing something frightening. I do not enjoy this rush. But I do enjoy the rush that comes after, the rush of triumph, the rush of a fear beaten into submission. What’s next? Skydiving?

My mum said she will never call me a wimp again.

After swimming we went back to my mum’s house and celebrated my sister’s birthday. Naturally, I laughed and joked and made everybody giggle. That’s my role. Even when I don’t feel like it. I didn’t feel like it yesterday. I just wanted to be left alone. I did enjoy myself, but it was a strain to be the person they expect. Towards the end of the evening the cracks were showing. I had a couple of glasses of wine. My movements and speech became more erratic.

I had realised over the course of the day how different I am. Other people don’t have constant crises of identity, other people are not emotionally incontinent. They don’t spend their lives like this, with every small step being such bloody hard work. I realised how normal my life has become to me, that I don’t even notice my differences most of the time. But other people do. Even my own family, the people who supposedly know me best, don’t know how to take me. When I become “difficult” they withdraw from me, break eye-contact, and just wait for the storm to pass. They can’t take charge, they can’t rescue me, throw me a rope and help me out of the hole I have created for myself. They just watch.

They like the bright, bubbly, sparkly Karita. I hide the other Karita from them as much as possible. But sometimes she decides to show up anyway, and she embarrasses us all.

They don’t get it, how can they? They can’t possibly understand that this is not fun for me. This is not fun. This is a nightmare that I sometimes wonder if I will ever wake up from.

Shattered
Like a windowpane
Broken by a stone
Each tiny piece of me lies alone

And scattered
Far beyond repair
All my shiny dreams
Just lying there

I’m broken, but I’m laughing
It’s the sound of falling glass
I hope that you won’t mind if I should cry,
In public, while I wait for this to pass

‘Cause sweet darling I’m shattered
Into fragments cold and gray
Sweep the pieces all away
Then no one will ever know how much it mattered
Something deep inside of me
Shattered

[Linda Ronstadt]

On the way home I cried.

But I believe that there is hope. Over the last couple of weeks my Bible readings have been from this passage:

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”

Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would know my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

[John 14: 1-7]

Over and over again I come to these verses. So I have looked at them and tried to understand. I won’t go into it all now, but I will just show you something I read last night:

Fear moistens our palms, buckles our knees and chokes our breath. Debilitating fear makes cowards of even the strongest and most powerful warriors. Some try to fight their fears by ignoring them. Others mask their fears through anesthesia (alcohol and drugs) or false bravado (pretending that all is well). Some respond by rushing recklessly into danger. But the answer, the effective antidote to fear, comes from knowing the truth and knowing what lies ahead, down the path.

Jesus told his disciples that he was the Truth (John 14: 6) and that heaven awaited all who trusted in him (John 14: 1-4). Thus they need not fear, regardless of their circumstances, pressures and troubles. Certainly these young men didn’t know the future, but they knew the one who did – and he promised them peace.

What fears steal your hope and keep you awake at night? Trust the Saviour, and sleep like a baby.

[Dave Veerman]

Yesterday the heavy weight of my broken mind came crashing in on me, bringing with it fear. I don’t know how long it will take me to come to terms with this illness, or how long it will take me to learn to manage it. I am afraid of my future. I don’t know how to be around people. I don’t know who I am. I am scared of my next depressive episode and where it will lead me.

But this I know, He heals the brokenhearted,
And stays our sin, and calms our lurking fear,
And lifts the burden from the heavy laden,
For yet the Saviour, Saviour of the world is here.

[I cannot tell, Londonderry Air]

I will cling to the truth that my Saviour teaches me. He knows me. He loves me. He paid the ultimate price for me. He brought me back to himself. And one day he will lead me home.

Futile

Groan.

I have another counseling session tonight.

What a waste of time.

This is the format of every session so far:

Him: So how has your week been?

Me: Crappy.

Him: Why?

Me: Moods all over the place.

Him: Can you describe these moods?

Me: No, because I feel OK at the moment and therefore can’t remember what I felt like then.

Him: Anxiety seems to be a pressing issue for you. Do you know why you get so anxious?

Me: Not really. I worry about everything. If there’s nothing to worry about then I invent something. My day isn’t complete without a mini panic attack. Everyone’s got to have goals, right?

Him: Are you nervous now?

Me: Yes, because talking about this stuff to a virtual stranger makes me nervous.

Him: Can you tell me what the thoughts are that make you nervous?

Me: Not really. I only know how I feel. Trapped, cornered, like I’m about to be caught out.

Etc, etc. We go round in circles for a while.

Him: Lets talk about depression. How do you feel when you’re depressed?

Me: Erm…

Him: How do you feel about yourself?

Me: Erm…

And so on.

I mean, what’s the point? I try to tell him that my moods are changing so rapidly at the moment that I haven’t got a clue how I feel, but he doesn’t seem to get that. But I know that I was fairly uncooperative, and possibly slightly aggressive, last week so I have to do better tonight.

Do I tell him that I cut myself? Even though it was just a small cut? He will want me to explain what led me to do that, and I won’t know how to answer because I haven’t even articulated my reasons in my own head yet.

Can’t I just go home and watch Charmed?

The Wonderful NHS

I went to see the psychiatrist yesterday. It was interesting to say the least. I have been a nervous wreck for the last few weeks, as one person put it, “constantly on red alert”. I kept telling myself over and over again, not long to go now, just two more weeks, one more week, and then the doctor will put me on the right medications and I’ll start to feel better.

Hmmm. Don’t ever put that much faith in the NHS.

Off I trotted yesterday, typically feeling neither too up nor too down – isn’t that always the way with these things? I was greeted by a new doctor. She apologised and said my previous psychiatrist had left suddenly and she was just filling in. She was pressed for time so we squeezed my hour-long appointment into fifteen minutes. Naturally, I became somewhat agitated at this. Foot tapping, hands shaking, tripping over my words.

I tried to say that I need help, my moods are cycling too fast for me to cope with, but she wanted details of this. How high does your mood go? How long does it last? How long does it take to go down? How do you feel when you’re down? Do you notice a pattern to your moods? I just stuttered that I’m having trouble with my memory; as I’m not miserable now I can’t really remember what it was like and the same goes for being high. She asked me when things started to get worse; for example, how was I on Valentines Day? I desperately tried to recall that far back in my head. Then the light bulb came on. I had brought my mood diary with me for the last few weeks! So I found my entry for the middle of February and tried to pull some sense out of the confused muddle of my mind.

Just as I was starting to talk, she moved onto something else. Do I hear voices, do I want to kill myself, or hurt myself? Do I get messages from the television? Do I practice breathing techniques to calm myself down? Do I ever become sexually promiscuous or flirtatious? The rapid-fire questions made me more and more nervous, until she eventually had to calm me down and persuade me to breathe properly to prevent me from giving in to a full-blown panic attack.

The upshot is that she has increased my mood stabiliser as the dose I have been on clearly doesn’t work at all. She wanted to see me again in two weeks time, because she feels I warrant “closer attention” and other meds may need to be changed too. But, and here’s the rub, they don’t have any appointments free until June. JUNE. That’s right, I have to wait ten weeks until my next appointment.

I initially freaked out about this (internally of course, one must never show ones true emotions, particularly anger or aggression, to virtual strangers). My inner panic attack started whispering sweet nothings to me, such as: you’ll never cope for that long, you’re going to break down completely, you can’t keep going like this, etc. But actually, it’s not as bad as it first appeared. This psychiatrist is giving a care plan to my GP so that my GP can further increase my mood stabiliser as needed. Hopefully this will halt or at least slow the incessant ultra-rapid-cycling. Maybe I’ll be able to get her to change other things too, like getting off this sodding SSRI anti-depressant.

However, I am left feeling a little unnerved. This psychiatrist seemed genuinely worried about me, and she only saw me for fifteen minutes. Unfortunately, due to stupid NHS shortages, she was unable to do much about her concerns. I went home after the appointment, took the rest of the day off work, and seriously considered getting blind drunk. I decided against that course of action, and as I was working out what to do instead I suddenly felt incredibly tired. So I lay down, fell asleep and didn’t wake up for four hours. I guess all the anxiety of recent weeks has taken it out of me more than I realised. I felt substantially calmer after my nap, and I still feel calmer today. Bloody exhausted though!

WTF?

Long-winded, waffling post coming up.

I have been feeling paralysed by my moods and my anxiety. I can’t write. I can’t form coherent thoughts. When I speak my thoughts I make a verbal mess. But it was recently suggested to me that my writing doesn’t have to be perfect. This gave me a bit of a shock, albeit a pleasant one. I was compared to an artist called Jackson Pollock. Being an ignoramus I had to Google this guy and found out that he was an abstract expressionist, which left me no clearer as to why I had been compared to him. So I had to confess my ignorance and ask for clarification:

Rather than forming your raw emotions into well-crafted pictures, you can just splurge them onto the surface. When we look at them, we’ll connect directly with them without having to go through the distorting process of appreciating a picture or a piece of prose. Raw emotion, passed from one person to another, without the middle guy!

Interesting. I am a perfectionist by nature. I also have a habit of comparing myself to other people and finding myself wanting. For instance, I read some outstandingly well-written blogs, which I love, but which sometimes makes me feel that I have no right to blog because I don’t have their skill with words. So here goes. I will try to write without worrying about what others may think, or how my inner prose nerd flinches.

Emotions, so many emotions. They threaten to overwhelm me. I stand in the sea and wave after wave of emotions bombard me, I fall, I can’t breathe, I struggle back up, spluttering, gasping for air, each time more unsteady. How long before I don’t get up again?

What can I do to stem the flow? I drink a glass of wine and it frees me slightly. Frees me enough to get to the computer and type. Must write. Must communicate somehow. Or I will drown.

Self-destructive urges. Cut. Blood. Scars. Pollution. Hurt myself. Mirror on the outside what goes on inside. But I am sensible enough to not give in to these urges. Most of the time anyway. I have my vices. But most of the time I squash these dirty desires. But I can’t squash the emotions. Not for long. Where do they go?

My counselor encourages me to find a creative means to express these emotions, in a way that is healthy for me. But I can’t draw. I can’t paint. I used to paint. But I was mediocre at best. I stopped. Can I start again? Does it matter that in the eyes of the world my creativity is worthless? Can I sustain enough enthusiasm to pursue this for longer than a week? Or will I research until my brain dries up, buy the materials, sit down to paint, only to find that whatever was driving me has gone?

I have been on the verge of panic for days. Reminding myself to breathe deeply over and over again. I have made mistakes at work and have had to try and sort out the mess. But my thoughts go so rapidly. I can’t focus. Just this evening I have been up and down, up and down. Have to write, can’t write, have to sit, can’t sit, have to think, can’t think… So I drink another glass of wine and take a sleeping pill. Come back to the computer.

This thing in my mind, it stops me functioning, but nobody can see it! I have to fight and fight, but what am I fighting? Myself. I am fighting myself. Nobody can see. Nobody can understand. I can’t even understand, because my thoughts come and go so quickly that I don’t have time to assimilate them. What to do, what to do? I know, I’ll tap my foot! That will help. Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

Does it help? No. Oh, I know! I’ll drink another glass of wine.

Round and round and round we go. Merrily merrily merrily merrily, lightly down the stream. Is that how the rhyme goes? I’d like to be by a stream.

Am I going round the bend? Round and round? This is what the inside of my head is like all the time. Constant, no pause. No respite. How can I possibly focus on the mundane tasks of work when my brain is playing these tricks on me? Will painting help? Will writing this finally help me? Getting drunk didn’t help me, all it did was make me realise how close to the edge I am.

Mood goes up, this is good, there are benefits to this disorder. I have insights, that other people don’t have, I see what they don’t see. Quick as a flash, mood goes down, I was so arrogant, me, have insights? You have to be kidding. I can’t even remember where I put my cigarettes. I am worthless, I am nothing, I am ugly, I can’t cope at work, I can’t breathe, nobody knows, I don’t know, where are you God? On and on.

I’m going to stop now. You know, I actually enjoyed writing this, although it did make my heart pound. Writing as the thoughts come, without the hassle of trying to get them to make sense. Hope you had fun reading! Please, if you’re going to report me to the nutty people, send me an email first, so it doesn’t come as too much of a shock?

Cycling

Blog posts have been a little thin on the ground recently, haven’t they? I’ve been getting somewhat annoyed with myself, because I only appear to be able to post when I’m feeling depressed, probably because that’s when I’m most introspective. But my mood cycles very fast and I have usually experienced a fair few mood states within the space of one week, and it would be nice if I could express more than just the depressive side of my nature. Grrr.

Also, I have a lot on my mind right now, for the times, they are a-changin’. I’m seeing myself differently. I’m seeing a lot of things differently. And yet the same. It doesn’t make any sense, I know. The thoughts go round and round my head, until I bore even myself. I can’t seem to express myself coherently, either verbally or in writing. I tried talking to both my Dad and my gorgeous hubby last night, and I’m not sure if I made myself understood at all. I think I just rambled on and they humoured me.

So far this week, my mood has cycled in it’s usual way. I can see the pattern now. Here is a simplified version:

• Day 1: Hypomanic. Full of energy and smiles. Productive. Ideas buzz around my head. Rapid speech, rapid thoughts.
• Day 2: Mood still “up” but less focused, difficulty concentrating. Anxiety makes an appearance, along with the increased heart-rate and difficulty sitting still.
• Day 3: Paranoia kicks in but mood can remain upbeat for a little while longer yet. Intrusive thoughts such as “everyone hates me”, “my boss is just waiting for me to screw up”.
• Day 4: Mood starts to deflate a little. More intrusive thoughts. “I’m worthless”. “I can’t write”. “This blog is crap”. “I’m such a boring/ugly person”. I usually end that day fighting tears.
• Day 5: Mood goes slightly blank and numb as I try to fight off the intrusive thoughts. I start to want to get drunk.

Day 5 is where I am today. I don’t want to write about the next stage, in case writing it down makes it come true, and I would prefer to skip it please. Maybe I’ll write the rest of the cycle after I go through it again. It amazes me that even though I know my mood will change, and I can make a pretty good guess as to how it will change, it still takes me by surprise when it does change.

Anyway, at least I can count on the fact that none of these moods last very long. That in itself has its good and bad side. The good side is that at least depression doesn’t have very long to get a real hold of me. The bad side is that I never know how I will feel from one day to the next. My thoughts change, my opinions change, my self-esteem changes, my self-perception changes.

I want clear, lucid thoughts.

I cling to the one thing in my life that doesn’t change – my husband. No matter how I feel, I always think he’s wonderful.

Order Amidst Chaos

Getting back to what was supposed to be my point yesterday, before I rambled off on a tangent. Shrink’s appointment on Thursday. Weirdly, I’m not feeling nervous about this. Doubtful, yes… sceptical, yes… nervous, not so much.

The thing with going to a GP is that they often just take a summary of how I’m feeling, or how I have felt in the past. There’s no way a GP can diagnose me accurately. I would like the shrink people to be more detailed in their questioning of me.

The things I would like to be addressed:

• Anxiety
• Mood swings
• Inability to concentrate

 So there could be Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD). There could be a mood disorder of some sort. There could also be AD/HD. The symptoms of these things all seem to overlap quite a lot. I can do a shed-load of research (and I have) but I will never be able to diagnose myself.

GAD: A strong possibility, due to my tendency to worry all the time over nothing at all, and stress myself out with imagined fears and disaster scenarios.

AD/HD: Only just started thinking about this one. I do seem to match a staggering amount of the symptoms; however, as Mr. Razzler very kindly pointed out, lots of people probably match some of the symptoms, and it doesn’t mean they have the disorder.

Mood Disorder: This is the tricky one. Mr. Razzler’s comment would probably also apply here. Sigh. What is depression and what is just “down”? What is hypomania and what is normal excitement and exuberance? Do I fit all the diagnostic criteria? How would anyone ever figure that out anyway, as it’s all so subjective?

Of course, I could have none of these things. It’s quite possible that I am just “difficult”.

There are likely to be fun times ahead. At least my boss didn’t mind me taking Thursday afternoon off work.

Unpredictable? Me?

I go back to work tomorrow. I’ve had three whole weeks off. Much needed, as I had only had one week off since October 2007. Shame I got ill, but at least I had enough time to get over it.

I’m nervous about going back. What a surprise, eh? I know I have no need to be anxious. I keep waking up in the night with that nasty feeling of being on the verge of everybody finding out that I’m a great big fraud. I go through everything in my life and realise that I haven’t done anything wrong, but the feeling doesn’t go away. So I go back to bed and snuggle up to Mr. Razzler, who is obliviously asleep.

I have my shrink’s appointment on Thursday. Possibly one reason why I am nervous about returning to work:

Hi! Yes, I know I’ve had three weeks off work but I need to take another afternoon off to go and see a psychiatrist.

Before my appointment I thought it might be useful to get straight in my head the things that go inside my head, if that makes any sense. We have, in no particular order:

• One large dollop of anxiety
• A pinch of depression
• A spoonful of high excitement
• A cup (for my American readers) of irritation
• All stirred in with general confusion

I am almost always anxious. Usually about nothing at all. I have been this way for as long as I can remember. Ditto with depression. I’m not always depressed, but I have had depressive episodes since I was a teenager. It could just be bouncing off the anxiety. My mind goes round and round over the same old things. I beat myself up for past humiliations, even things that happened over ten years ago.

However, I am also a very bubbly, excitable person. I get filled with inexpressable affection for people. New ideas overwhelm me with enthusiasm (which rarely lasts, by the way). I want to go out and dance, sing, talk…

And then there is that mixy feeling. Irritated, like I want to escape out of my own skin. This is a horrible place to be in. I snap at everyone – actually, I usually hold it all inside me and explode at poor Mr. Razzler. Nothing pleases me.

An example of this happened on Friday. I was relaxed in the morning and early afternoon. Mr. Razzler and I went out for a drive in the sub-zero temperatures a bit later in the day. It was all very pleasant. We were going out in the evening and I wanted to make a dessert to take with us. Making desserts always makes me anxious as I never get it right. We went to Morrison’s to get marshmallows. They don’t sell them anymore. We went to the Co-op for marshmallows. It turns out they don’t sell them anymore either. We went to Iceland for marshmallows. Can you see where I’m going with this. We eventually found them in the pound shop and rushed home (me twitching slightly) to make a supposedly delicious marshmallow and cream topping to go on chocolate muffins. Simple, one would think. I melted the marshmallows and Mr. Razzler whipped the cream. Then mixed the two together. And promptly over-whipped the mixture so that it looked like two-week-old milk that has been sitting on a radiator. Nice.

We bought dessert on the way over to our friends’ house. Needless to say, I was in the mixy mood and hunched in my seat glowering at the world. I livened up once we arrived and had a glass of wine in my hand. I talked, I laughed, I joked. I was loud. People made fun of my northern accent and I laughed and teased in return.

Just as we were all leaving a friend came over and asked us about buying tickets to a concert we are going to. I didn’t realise we would have to buy them in January. We are broke. I was tired. My mood immediately became mixy again. I looked at all the different seat prices but they blurred into one. I knew we couldn’t afford this, but my friend kept pushing me to decide. I couldn’t decide! I hate being penned into a decision like that. I can’t explain it very well. It’s like surrounded by a very small fence and it makes me want to fight my way out, using any means possible. In the end I just said, I’m too tired to do this tonight, and walked out! I heard Mr. Razzler apologising for me and mentioning something about PMT. Grrr.

So there we are. Now, nothing about that day was particularly extreme. I didn’t get drunk, or punch anyone, or dance naked on a table, or anything else along those lines. I have just realised that I can’t seem to control my behaviour. I’m just a leaf, being blown about in the wind.

So that got me thinking, if I can’t control my behaviour, then how do I know if I can control my thoughts? I mean, it’s relatively easy to control myself when I’m on holiday. If I’m nervous or grumpy or down I can distract myself with music, books, telly, the computer. If I’m really up I can go out and get rid of it by drinking alcohol and talking at high speeds. What do I do to control myself when I’m at work? If I get down when I’m stuck at my desk, what do I do? So I’m worried that any improvement I have made over the last few weeks will be destroyed the minute I walk into the office tomorrow morning.

However, I’m not going to leave this post on that note! No sir, not me. I have a plan. I have been attempting to live in the moment more recently. Mr. Razzler has been helping me. When I worry he will look at me and I will remember. Don’t worry about tomorrow, enjoy today. So if I can learn to live in the moment when it comes to pleasure, maybe I can learn to live in the moment when it comes to work too. One task at a time. Maybe I’ll be more productive that way, and that in turn will mean I have less to worry about. Sounds simple, yes?

Right, I think I have rambled on for long enough. I haven’t quite covered what I intended to in this post, but I’m at 1075 words, so maybe I’ll leave the rest for another time.

More pills, please!

I saw the doctor last night. It went better than expected. I was nervous, but could still speak and managed not to cry. Yay for me! I kept my tongue on a tight leash and just said that I am on anti-depressants, which were increased a couple of weeks ago and I am getting more agitated and nervous by the day.

At first the doctor was skeptical about the effect of the anti-depressants on me, because I am not on a high dose. I told her firmly (but politely, I think) that I couldn’t give a flying f*ck what dose I’m on, or how most other people generally react; they are making me worse and I need to get it sorted because I’m barely functioning. She seemed to take this well.

She then told me that there are various treatment paths to take. We could try changing the type of anti-depressants. But that won’t have an immediate effect. We could try anxiety medication, which is mostly highly addictive and they are reluctant to try it except as a last resort. We may end up trying mood stabilsers, but for that to happen I have to be referred to a psychiatrist. In the words of the doctor, “this may be more than just anxiety, it may be a mood disorder”.

Well, let’s give that woman a round of applause.

So, we’re starting with beta-blockers. From what I have read, they treat the physical symptoms associated with anxiety, fast heart-rate, etc., not the worrying itself. I’m slightly dubious but hopeful. At least they might slow me down a bit. That would be nice.

If the beta-blockers don’t work then we will most likely try the anxiety meds, or Benzodiazepines. They may also switch anti-depressants. If that doesn’t work then they may have to refer me. Let’s hope they work then! The doctor seemed to think I might freak out about this, but I reassured her that I’m best when I am given all the information. Hiding things from me just makes me more twitchy.

At least I have a kind of road map now.

P-P-P-Panic

I am so agitated. I embarrassed myself quite thoroughly yesterday. I came to work and spent most of the morning chewing my nails until my fingers bled. They are sore now and I have nobody to blame but myself. I got more and more jumpy until I finally decided to call the doctors and get an appointment as soon as possible to sort out this medication malarkey. Clearly, increasing the dose wasn’t the best idea. The anxiety and hyper, twitch agitation is escalating. However, the receptionist told me that I couldn’t see my doctor until the 22nd! The 22nd! I laughed and then burst into tears and started stuttering (yes, stuttering) about how I need to see my doctor and she understands me and she’s kind to me… There was really nothing the poor receptionist could do but reassure me that the other doctors will have my notes and it’s good to forge relationships with new doctors. I stuttered once more about how I get nervous with doctors and can’t talk properly and get IBS cramps in the waiting room, but eventually decided to go with it. So I am seeing a new doctor tomorrow evening.

Oh, and all this crying and stuttering was in my office in front of my boss. And other assorted colleagues. Lovely.

I have no idea what will happen with the doctor. Will she be willing to change my medication? I tell you something, though, I’m not leaving until something has been sorted. This is too much for me to cope with. I’m not coping. I cry, I hyperventilate, my heart-rate is through the roof, I can’t sleep properly, I feel nauseous, my stomach keeps cramping…

I am back at work today and trying to view my day as merely a series of achievable goals. One goal after another. Maybe I can keep the panic at bay.

Tears

Well, it’s the last day of November. I was going to write a proper post today, I had it all sorted in my head and everything! However, I have just been singing at church and spent the entire service attempting not to cry. Now I’m at home with tears pouring down my face. I took two days off work to try and stabilise myself. Doesn’t look like it worked, does it? Now I’m scared about going back. I keep reminding myself I only have three weeks left and then I have two weeks off at Christmas. Two whole weeks. But I’m scared that I won’t get through these next few days, never mind the next few weeks, without having a meltdown. I’m going to have to be honest with my boss about how I’m feeling and ask that she is gentle with me.

The nature of things

OK, I have a few minutes to myself so I thought I’d get a blog post written.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the nature of sin. And the nature of love. And how the two go together. They always seem to be together. I’m talking here about my love for God. And my knowledge of His love for me. My love for God seemed to diminish for a while these last few months. I wasn’t on fire for Him. I didn’t think about Him all the time, I didn’t have the impulse to read my Bible. I couldn’t seem to find Him. I felt lost. I even wondered if He was even really there, or if I just wanted Him to be. Doubts, doubts.

Although I know from what I have learned that my identity is in Christ (I am who He made me to be, and Christ’s sacrifice has made me clean in God’s sight) I still compared myself to other people all the time. I have always done this to a certain degree but I reached new levels of neuroticism recently. I was constantly wondering what other people were thinking of me. I needed their approval. I was gutted when I didn’t think I received it. Other people’s opinions of me became far more important than God’s opinion of me.

A few weeks ago I started taking medication to try and control my anxiety. They took a while to kick in, and in fact I became more nervous for a while. However, during our week on holiday I was able to get some perspective. I felt my body physically relax. Towards the end of the week I was thinking more clearly. When I came back to work I was much less worried. And I started to think about how my sin pulls me away from loving God. Or how my lack of loving God leads me into sin. Which way round is it?

Red Wine Gums said recently that:

The problem when you don’t feel God in your life, when you don’t love him with all of your heart is that it’s impossible to truly hate sin.

So true. When I am feeling far away from God, that is when certain sins become acceptable to me. Like maybe having a bit too much to drink, or getting cross with somebody and moaning to Mr. Razzler about them behind their back. It just seems like it’s too much hard work to be fully committed to God. He doesn’t help me, I’m left to do this on my own, and it’s too hard. What does it matter if I don’t love this person the way I should, what does it matter if I was impatient at work today?

I got a lovely little mp3 player for my birthday. It’s great. So I spent some time walking by the river while we were away, listening to some great music. I felt calm flooding through me. I felt like I kept catching little glimpses of God. Little glimpses of who He wants me to become. But the doubts were (and are) still there. Did I really feel God or did I just think I felt him because of all the pretty trees and ducks and good music? Or because of the anti-depressants that I’m currently shoving down my throat every evening? After all, I am a very emotional person. How can a feelings-oriented person work out the difference between feelings and reality? How can I tell what is God and what is me?

Returning

Hi all.  So I’m back – which you may have noticed from the photos I put up yesterday. We had such a good time and I came back feeling calmer and more relaxed than I have in months. I pondered a bit while I was away, mainly when I was sitting listening to the crickets as I smoked by the side of the boat during the deliciously quiet evenings. I wrote some of my thoughts down and some thoughts are still sitting inside my head, waiting to be unlocked.

I came back to work yesterday and had a few flutterings of nerves but there was nothing to be worried about. I was calm all day! The holiday and the medication have done their job. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow to decide whether to come off the meds or stay on for a little while longer. I’m not really sure what to do. I’ll let you know what we decide.

The biggest change in me is that I am feeling excitement again. I like this feeling.