Tomorrow is a new month. Maybe I can get it together and do better at work. Maybe I can manage my diet and exercise routine better. Yes, it’s a new month. I will be better.
I have said this to myself at the start of every month for probably six months now, and it never comes true. At this point, I’m actually frightened about work. I need to do better there, but depression makes me forget there are real-world consequences to my absence. I try to work, and racing thoughts drive away my concentration. Mania causes me to not worry about whether I have a job. Who wants to worry when they’re manic?
As for diet and exercise, these are closely linked to mood. Manic Me can count calories and exercise with the best of them. Depressed Me can sometimes barely get out of bed. Middle of the Road Me does a decent job of things. She just isn’t seen often these days.
I’ve had so much trouble with mood symptoms that my psychiatrist is frustrated and considering personality disorders. He just can’t make me fit in to one of his boxes. The therapist told him that maybe the problem was him and his medicines. I wanted to hug her for that.
So here we are. March. The end of the year’s first quarter. Maybe I’ll do better now.
We’re 25 days in to the new year, and I am still dealing with depression and suicidal thoughts. I’m managing. Work is getting done, bills are getting paid. But I’m miserable. I wonder sometimes how long the part of me that wants to live can fight off the part that has decided it’s time to die. It’s a scary place to be.
The one thing that has been my refuge is Fawlty Towers, the John Cleese/Connie Booth comedy from the 70s. For some reason, my darkened mind can concentrate on the show. I can laugh and not feel terrible about it. I can lose myself in the troubles of Basil, and for 25 minutes or so, I’m in someone else’s life.
My cats save me time and again. People can understand the concept of suicide, even if they don’t understand the reasons behind it. Cats will just feel abandoned when one of the people they love stops coming to see them. This has been my life force of late. I know that, as long as my cats are alive, I will not follow through with my suicidal thoughts. I just can’t imagine outliving those cats for long.
Warning: This will very likely trigger anyone who is sensitive to the topic of self injury.
My depression has not improved, my suicidal thoughts have not lessened, and I find myself returning to the behaviour that has seen me through for over twenty years. I find solace in the touch of a razor on my skin. I find comfort in the blood. It is a sick and twisted little dance I do with my mind, yet it keeps me from going through with the suicidal intentions when things get this bad. Proof of my life saves me somehow.
If you are an adult who self injures, please know you are not alone. Emphasis is always placed on teenagers, especially teen girls, but there are many people who continue with SI or even start it long after the teen years. It’s not talked about, because most of us are so ashamed of what we do. I couldn’t talk about it without the anonymity of this blog. If you want to talk about the issue, please leave a comment or email me. I will not discuss pro-self injury topics, and I’m not at all qualified to give mental health advice. If what you need is someone to share your suffering, though, I can be there for that.
It’s January. The start of a new year, full of promise and hope. So where does this leave me? Mildly suicidal and horrendously depressed. It started yesterday and has just continued to get worse over time.
It occurred to me that, whilst I am perfectly happy to spend the rest of my life at the side of my best friend, he might well wish to spend the rest of his life at the side of an actual romantic partner. My head spun as I realised that things could change in a major way. My entire lifestyle could be smashed. It would be a good thing for my best friend, and I would never begrudge him of that. I would just miss being centre stage in his life as opposed to an understudy. I like us as us. Not a couple, but definitely a unit.
So I recognise that part of this is situational; my big realisation isn’t helping my low mood. I realise, as well, though, that this is a bipolar depression. The sun is dimmer. That’s a sure sign to me that I am falling in to an episode. The sun looks noticeably dimmer even high in the sky. In short, I am depressed.
Fortunately, I see my therapist later this week. We will talk through my realisation, talk through the suicidal feelings, and make a plan for coping with it all. She’s patient but firm, and I know I can hold on long enough to make this happen.
This week has been great. I have worked many hours, completed student loan repayment applications, kept up with household chores, and generally felt well mentally. This has all happened for the first time in months, and it leaves me wondering where my mood has been. I feel good right now. I can concentrate again, and life doesn’t seem so overwhelming. I’m grateful for whatever shift has happened.
The one dark spot in this is that I have obviously been having mood issues without being aware of them. I’m usually good at picking up on mood symptoms and dealing with them before things get bad. The recent manic episode must have split what has been a months-long depressive episode. That’s all I can think of. Depression causes that soul-sucking overwhelm and inability to concentrate. I didn’t particularly feel depressed, but apparently, my mind was acting in depressed mode.
Whatever it was, I’m just happy it has passed. Does anyone else out there have mood episodes that you only see in hindsight?
I’ve been cycling. As a matter of fact, I’m still on the downswing. It started with hypomania that I didn’t even recognise. My therapist pointed it out to me. This went on for roughly two weeks (which is why I haven’t posted). My thoughts raced madly, and I wanted everyone to shut it so I could keep talking. *Nothing* moved fast enough.
From there, the mixed state set in. The latest DSM did away with mixed episodes. The disorder, on the other hand, did not. This is the dangerous stage for me. All the despair and suicidal ideation of depression with all the energy of mania. I had racing dark thoughts. I didn’t want to talk anymore because I didn’t want anyone to get in my head. My paranoia shot up. *Everything* was dangerous.
Now I’ve fallen in to a light depression. It’s inconvenient and uncomfortable, but I feel I can cope with it safely. If not, I’ll definitely phone up my therapist. This completes my cycle, though. A couple of weeks of mania, followed by a week or so mixed, followed by sometimes months of depression. Here’s hoping this stage passes as quickly and as easily as possible.
My thoughts have been going down that road all weekend, and it’s dangerous. I look back on certain situations in my past and wonder how they might have turned out if x had or hadn’t happened. This is futile at best and dangerous at worst. A decade ago, something happened in my life that lost me quite a few friends. It’s been an entire bloody decade, and the thought of it still floors me. I felt I had everything going for me. Then, one person and one event tore it all down. The logical part of me realises that means it simply wasn’t meant to be. The emotional part of me wants to stamp my feet and demand the chances back again.
This has left me quite depressed. I’m not suicidal, but I keep having these fleeting thoughts like ‘what would happen if I just slit my wrists.’ Maybe I just want a visible indication of how I feel whilst the smile sits on my face. I wish I could somehow communicate to someone exactly how miserable I feel, but trauma dictates that I keep smiling and avoid bothering people. Therapy this week. Hopefully, I’ll drop the facade there and actually process this stuff. In the meantime, I shall sit here typing away and trying to stay in the present. The past is just so hard to resist.
I’ve been in a bipolar depressive episode for five weeks with about two days’ reprieve. Things are black. The sun doesn’t even look bright. I’m so tired of feeling like this. My doctor is trying me on an anti-depressant with the thought that the potential for a manic episode is not worth letting the depressive episode carry on like this. In the meantime, *everything* is falling apart. I got in trouble at work, gained weight I’d lost, and just generally stopped caring enough to take care of myself.
This lands me where I am today. I feel disgusting inside and out. My disordered eating patterns are back. The self-injurious behaviour is back. I just generally don’t care what happens to my body right now. My mind is too far from settled to give it thought.
I stay around for those I love and those who love me back. I stay for my cats who are my little furry children. I stay for my family-of-choice who I couldn’t hurt the way being a survivor of suicide does. I’m just tired of staying right now.
I came home unexpectedly today. A few nights ago, I woke up unexpectedly in hospital after having taken what I thought was a fatal overdose. The combination of a lengthy depressive episode and a bad living situation that I can’t escape got to be too much for me, and I attempted to end my life. Yet now I’m here, typing a blog post I never thought I’d write on a day I never thought I’d see.
Even though the attempt didn’t work, I hurt a great deal of people. Most of all, I hurt my FOC. These are the people who taught me family and who expect me to be there for them. I let them down, and I’ll have to live with that. How do you apologise enough? How do you win back the trust of those who never deserved to be put in this situation? How do you learn to live with the guilt? I’m wrestling with these questions now. Nothing I can do will make up for what I put people through, but I’ll do my best.
There’s also therapy– loads of it. I’m having daily sessions, at least by phone, and working hard at setting things right. It will take a while; I’m not completely happy to be here yet. I can, however, say that I’m not a danger to myself. My therapist told me to hold on to the feeling of pain brought on by putting my FOC through this, and that is a great motivator for staying alive. In the past, it’s always been enough to see me through. This time, however, my current situation won out. My FOC do *not* deserve this.
I’m not sure how to move forward from here. Slowly, of course, but the path is unclear. I’ve given my word to two of the most important people in my FOC for the first time, and I keep my word. Suicide is no longer an option. In a strange sense, that leaves me feeling helpless. What can I do if things get to be too much again? That question might well go unanswered for a bit. Much therapy yet to come.
So I’m here. And I’m working on it. For now, that’s all I can do.