Upbeat

Well let’s try something a little more upbeat, shall we?

– Amy Adams, Miss Pettigrew Lives For A Day

Time for some good news, don’t you think? The last 2 week’s blogs have been a tad depressing. But then again, that’s what we’re dealing with; depression. And it is depressing!

But, time for some good news. Just as long as you don’t think that’s how it actually works in real life. Good news following bad in a nice little ratio. It doesn’t happen neatly like that. The depressing topics can go on for quite a while without relief!

Thanks to my amazing psychiatrist I actually am feeling quite a bit better this week. My meds have been upped again and within 3 days of increasing the dose I was coming up from the depths and feeling better, and my energy and mood have kept on coming up. Thank goodness!

My belief has been renewed that it is possible to get properly medicated and live a reasonably normal life. I stopped believing over the last little while, thinking I was living a doomed life. I have been reminded how closely the analogy of diabetes fits my disease. When a diabetic’s sugar levels go off, they feel awful but they go to the doctor and the doctor changes the level of medication. I just forgot that I need to go to the doctor and ask for more meds when I start sinking; I tend to think it’s on me to fix myself, as if I could! I’ve been reminded very clearly this time that when I’m struggling, it’s not just that I’m struggling, but that there’s something chemical going on in my brain that needs a doctor to sort out. I need to recognize it, and ask for help. That sounds obvious, but it’s not obvious to me, not when I’m sick. I just blame myself, feel like I’m not doing enough to be better, and I hibernate.  So I’m reminded it’s the level of chemicals in my brain that are dictating how I’m going, and when I need more, I need more and I need to ask for it. I’ll try to remember for next time…

I have faith again now, faith that things can be better, and will get better, and will be better. Something I lost lately.

But if I wasn’t feeling better, I was planning to write something “positive” anyway.

You know, so you wouldn’t worry. So you wouldn’t think it was all bleak and dark. To balance out the last two posts. To alleviate your concerns and to reassure you that everything is okay. Because that’s what we do, or at least that’s what I do. People who are emotionally and mentally unwell.

I want you to know when things aren’t going well because I believe in my friends and family knowing the truth. I want you to know, I really do. I think it’s good for a lot of people to know how these things work; so you understand, and maybe so it’ll help you help someone else.

Until all the condolences roll in and everyone is so worried. Until dear friends get scared, and fret about how I am going. Then I think about you, and how it’s affecting you and it makes me anxious, thinking of more questions and concerns, and I back peddle. So sometimes I tell you its all good so you can relax. And so I can relax, and I’m no longer fielding afraid questions from loved ones. My husband says this is insulting to people. To coddle them, and not let them in on the whole truth. To decide what they can handle and what they can’t. To give them the amount of truth that I believe won’t overload them, and by extension, me.

I’m sorry to do this! I don’t mean to take control of the information stream, or insult you, or lie. But it quickly becomes too much for me. Despite this, I don’t want you to change a thing. Please don’t stop feeling concern, or asking me about what’s going on. I’m just letting you in on my crazy brain!

But I think this is a very common thing in people with mental illness. I read a piece recently about “smiling depression” and so many times it IS easier to smile. I try not to be fake, but it’s still my fall back, the easier option.

It’s not about restricting your access to information about my illness and how I’m going. Like I said, I want you to know; at least theoretically. I have a limited capacity for emotion, including other people’s, when I’m not well. This is why sometimes I still say “fine”, “okay”, “not bad”, “good thanks” to skirt the question of how I’m going. Because when I’m really not well, just a simple “how are you?” is enough to bring me to tears, and have I mentioned how much I hate crying? Especially in front of anyone else! But I’m trying to be honest and open, so bear with me.

Sometimes I want you to think I’m okay, or not so bad so I can slink back to bed without attention.

It’s not that I don’t appreciate your concern.

I want to promote understanding of mental illness, but sometimes the kind concern and loving questions, while so touching, are a lot to deal with when I’m operating at low emotional capacity! When I’m better it’s a lot easier to process and when I’m well it’s easy, just the same as you or anyone, but of course the same thoughts and  questions don’t apply then.

But I am well this week. I’ve got energy, motivation, stamina. I feel good! Everything is easier. I’m doing more, and it’s draining me less, and not exhausting me just to move. My husband is happy, the house is in a little bit shape, things are just good. So none of this is fake. These are the real positives that I can see clearly with my eyes right now. Yay!

  • I’ve gotten out of bed every day this week, and sometimes before noon! Really!
  • I’ve talked to a potential employer via email and on the phone, and done an in-person job interview
  • I’ve done groceries, dropped off some clothes to be mended, washed and dried sheets, posted some clothes for refund, tidied up my side of the bedroom, even cooked dinner one night! Don’t get your hopes too high though, that’s about all I’ve done!
  • I’ve been to my GP for an appointment, to a doctor for an ultrasound, to a careers counsellor for help getting a job, and to KFC when I couldn’t figure out what to eat for lunch! That’s a lot of outings and socialising for me! On the days I went out, I went to bed when I got home, usually for an hour and a half…but I didn’t nap on the days that I didn’t go out, so that’s something
  • All this out and about meant I got some sunshine on 2 separate days. Actually on the skin sunshine!

So that’s me for this week. It’s not a lot from the viewpoint of my old life, but these days I take whatever I can take, and this is relatively awesome!

How about you? How are you? I’d love to hear from you.

 

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And it stings like…

“A little twist of the knife, yeah. A little salt in the cut, yeah. A little thorn in the side and it stings like hell”

– The Veronicas, ‘Cruel’ lyrics.

Lazy. Not listening. Not trying to help yourself. Making yourself sick. Not doing what you can to get better. Doing things to make yourself sicker. If you really wanted to get better you would… .

Exaggerating. Everyone’s getting sick of this. Everyone else has problems too. You think just because you have a problem that it means you’re worse off than anybody else. I have problems too.

When I read this out loud or run it through my mind, it sounds like the negative self-talk that I had way back a year or more ago when I was really depressed. But I thought I worked though that? Didn’t I spend all that time in therapy with my psychologist specifically addressing this type of self-talk, bit by bit by tiny itty bitty little bit? I think differently now, for the most part. I try, in any case. And when a bit of negativity comes up, I think I have the skills now to recognize it, to dissemble it, remove its effect on my mood and thoughts and carry on regardless. For the most part; I’m not impervious!

What is it then, this string of insulting, hurtful words? It does sound quite a bit like one of the soundtracks a person with schizophrenia might be subjected to listening to. But I don’t have schizophrenia. I’m very sure of this. The number of mental health reviews and tests and interviews I’ve been through have shown up a string of illnesses, but psychosis has never come into the mix. I’ve never had voices as such, delusions or hallucinations as such, or this kind of audible insulting persona living in my brain.

What then? It must be an actual voice coming from an actual human. You wouldn’t think this would be a way a person would speak to me, to anyone, even if they did think it in their mind. Not like this. The words are awful things thrown with an angry, reactive tone. Who would know enough about me to think they were able to say such things with such venom?

Not my dear one, my husband. He watches the struggle daily and knows what effort I put in. It wears thin but he never throws blame. What an angel.

Not my friends, not one of my precious friends could say these things. They support, and support, and support. They are lovely, kind, genuine, helping, caring.

And there, aha. It sheds the light on who it is, who it can only be. And a shard pierces the heart, again. Again. I hoped.
I thought in my hoping that things would change for the better; that knowledge and understanding would temper such words. I looked for empathy, love, kindness. Not too much to hope for?
Disappointed again.
Sorry again to find that expected allies are enemies still, slashing and stabbing and wounding and delaying the healing and brutalizing the hope.

Well fooled me. Fooled in hope, in desire, in wanting, in needing something different. Fooled again. More fool me. Well, fool no more. Hope no more.

I see the scene, and I see that change cannot be brought by me. Nor by my dear one. Nor by my friends. I tried, it isn’t for want of trying. But I failed, and can’t stand to fail over again.

I don’t know where the change may be able to come from, or by who, or if it even can come.

But I turn my eyes away, I do not look for it anymore.
It is finished, for me. I have my love, my friends, my allies some. They are enough for me. I am enough for me. We will be enough.