Very Lost and Very Afraid

I only leave my bedroom to get coffee, feed the fish and take care of the chickens. I am safest here. But even then I am still afraid of myself.

The coping skills are for show.

The hope has vanished.

The motivation is gone.

Death is constantly knocking on my door. For some reason I believe that if I stay in my room Death can't find me here.

I cut myself up yesterday. Both arms and both legs. Things I shouldn't tell my therapist as then she'd be obligated to admit me to a hospital due to self harm. Things I'm afraid to tell my partner, as it only causes him more worry.

I've had depression all my life, but nothing like this. Nothing so horrible that everyday I think of how I could end it all.

To try and keep my thoughts off things I watch movies and play WoW.

I know I should be writing, really writing, but I'm not. I should be out there taking pictures as the hail rains down on us and how the leaves look so green.

Even the beauty of nature has lost it's color for me. I see things in black and white. My partner tries his hardest to understand and do the best he can for me.

I don't eat much. I drink coffee all day. I listen to music all the time. It's on random, 20gig iPod (old) full of music, on shuffle, I never know what I'll hear next. It keeps me from choosing an artists/album to listen to. I don't have to make a choice when it is this way.

I don't want to make choices.

What if I'm just going through the motions because I feel like I have to?

To be this way, this tore up inside. What if I don't want to wake up from this nightmare? What if I feel as though nothing on this earth will fix this shit in my head?

What is love?

Highs and Lows

I've been wavering between highs and lows.

Mostly lows. They are ugly. Mostly mentally ugly. I never knew how cruel my mind could be to me. Suicide. Ideas on how to do it. Thoughts of my uselessness. It is difficult to do a lot of things that should be simple. 

I am luckily to shower once a week, except on that rare occasion when someone is visiting me or I am going out to see people. Which again is rare. 

I understand my own body smell. So I tend to avoid the truly ick that could surround me. 

Of course if it weren't for my partner I most likely wouldn't eat at all and lords know what my living space would look like. 

You should see how often I bother to change my clothes. I hide this from the few guests I get or if I must fo out. 

Last week I went through more "paper work" for Social Security. It was heart wrenching. The questions that were asked of me. The most buzzar was if I was a righty or lefty. Both I and my Rep were uncertain why. But other questions were invasive, simply reminding me just how fucked my head is. Needless to say, after that phone call everything was off. 

Sometime last week I was in such a horrible place that my partner came home from work to be there for me. I am grateful that he can work from home fr time to time. 

My manic also came out last week. It was evening. The laundry was piled high, the kitchen was a mess. While my partner was out that evening I went nuts. I put away 3 loads of laundry and started a 4th. I also cleaned the kitchen. Not just the dishes but the counters, stove top and the mess the coffee maker makes now. It was nuts. I think I might have cleaned the fish tank too. 

Today, right now, I'm at a 5 out of 10. 10 being extremely suicidal and 1/0 being just fine. Today has been more anxious than depressed. But again, that could change for no reason at all.

Last week I also ordered a book that was highly recommended by my old psychiatrist, The Anatomy of the Spirit: The Seven Stages of Power and Healing by Caroline Myss. 

The difference from one day to the next.

Yesterday was one of those days from hell, if you believe in such things. I admitted on my FB page that I was suicidal. It was rough. I knew it wasn't the right thing, but my mind...the thoughts...the ugly, ugly thoughts that ran through my head.
I have no purpose.
I don't know what to do with my life, so what's the point.

It's easy to do.
Just take that bottle of pills.
There are so many to choose from.
You'd fall asleep and just never wake up.
No mess, no fuss.
Sure, you'd be missed, but they'd all get over it soon enough and life for them would carry on and your existence would just be a flicker in time.

These were the thoughts that plagued my mind.
I soaked in the tub.
I tried to read.
I tried watching something, anything to get my mind off my shitty thoughts.
I tried coloring mandalas.
I tried finding the "right" music.
I took my med like I'm supposed to.
I tried finding a therapist for couples therapy through my partners insurance. (It just confused the fuck out of me.)
I tried playing World of Warcraft (it's so different now with the new expansion, it's like playing a whole new game).
Nothing worked.

Today I woke up to find that my plans for the evening have been canceled. :( Despite my anxiety, there are few people that I can handle seeing without it blowing up in my face. It's groups that can be dangerous, or old friends that I just don't know what to say to them and they seem frightened of saying the wrong thing to me.

This morning was better. (After I got over my disappointment of plans being canceled.)
My partner is working from home today. He suggested we get a start on the garden bed that has been ignored for quite some time and was overgrown with weeds and we had no idea what has survived over the winter. Plus we had 2 potted plants that needed to go into the garden.

So while he worked I got busy pulling weeds. Filled one of those industrial garbage cans with weeds. I worked faster than he thought. By the time I was done he was heading out to help me.

That's sage in the corner and rhubarb in the front and mint in the back. The mint we planted last year. It's taken over a large section of our garden bed. But hey, Mojitos in training as some might say. ;)

Rhubarb again in the middle on the right and mint on the top wrapping around and again in the top middle. We are uncertain what that plant is that's growing between the mint. It could be a weed, but we're letting it grow for now to see what it turns out to me.

Mint again in the upper right, English Thyme on the "bottom" right and chives in the top middle. I'm uncertain what that is growing next to it, unless it's that similar plant that might be a weed. Time will tell.

That green loopy thing is part of an onion plant. (see below) We also planted potatoes between the chives and thyme, two on either side.

Here are more onions, and again potatoes planted between the two rows of onions.

The onions amaze me. They've been left to the local elements in Norther Colorado for a winter, and they just flourished this Spring. Those are flower head on the tips. It'll be interesting to see the bloom.

So there you have it. I went from I want to die (quite literally) to, I can't wait to see what this garden will do next. Oh, and I showered and am out of my PJs. 

Social Security

Today the paperwork was filled out and submitted to SSI to see if I qualify. I can't help but cry. I'm 34 years old. This shouldn't be happening. And as much as I don't want it to, it is, and I'm finding it /very/ hard to make the tears stop. Along with the embarrassment of it all.
I can't believe how wore out I am after that phone call. It started at 9am and ended around 10:30am. I'm exhausted. I did it, that's a plus. But mentally it's draining. I'm fighting the desire to go back to bed.

I get to do it all over again next Friday, I think the call should be shorter. I'm grateful for an advocator group that actually fills out all the paperwork for me and files it. And should I be denied they will work on changing that denial.

This week has been rough and maybe now it will get a bit better. I managed every day to take care of the chickens, but I've neglected everything else in the house.

After the phone call it has become apparent that I cannot work in a clerical environment again. I used to be so good at it. And now all it brings is panic, uncertainty, and instability.

Between my medication and fear of stepping out my own front door, how on earth can I possibly go on a job interview, much less learn to multi-task again. With my memory problems I have found that multitasking is very difficult for me now. One of the few positive things I had going for me work wise.

Time will eventually tell where my path is truly headed. We are trying to find options. And I'm trying to find the strength to follow through with those options.

Here's to hope.

Insurance

Have we talked about insurance yet?

I hate insurance. Not dislike. Not on the fence about it. I HATE insurance.

Let's be honest, having one's income cut by 40% sucks. It makes it harder to make ends meet. But we've managed.

When I was on FMLA and Short-Term disability I still had insurance through my "employer". But then, as soon as I was approved for Long-Term disability I was laid off and instantly lost my insurance. Great...

This Health Care Act sucks. There shouldn't be any enrollment dates. The enrollment date should be as soon as I need it. Fine, charge me a fee for not enrolling during the "enrollment dates". But since I can't what am I supposed to do until November?!

I need therapy at least once a week. I need to see my PCP on a regular basis. I need to see a psychiatrist at least once a month. I need my meds adjusted or added or changed in some way.

The program I was going through I can only use once a year. It only covers 10 therapy visits at a very cheap price and 4 visits with a psychiatrist. It was nice having it while I did. But that's gone now. Their suggestion, apply for medicaid.

I did. As embarrassing as it is, I did. I receive $63 too much to qualify. I'm a single person with no children. I don't qualify for shit.

I need medical help. I can't afford it out of pocket. $100 once a week to see a therapist out of pocket, and that's the low end. $150 to see a psychiatrist once a month or so. Plus medication and $130 a pop to see my PCP. That's $5,200 a year for a therapist. That's $1,800 per year to see a psychiatrist once a month. And an estimated $780 for my meds per year (assuming nothing is added to it and nothing changes). That's $1,560 to see my PCP annually. That's a grand annual total of $9,340, or $788.33 per month. That's roughly 58% of my income.

I have to wait until the 1st or 2nd week of Sept. to get on my life partner's insurance. I need something to cover me from now until then, and options seem slim.

We're looking at couples therapy through his insurance. To be honest we need it. He's been my caretaker for far too long and the lover side of him has dwindled since all of this started and it's my fault. I try not to beat myself up about it, but it's the truth. Maybe, just maybe, with that and paying full price to see a psychiatrist once a month or every other month, we'll be ok until I have "real" insurance. (And maybe my long-term insurance company will be satisfied with just that for now. Thankfully my PCP's nurse calls and checks in on me from time to time, and that doesn't cost me. Sometimes even my PCP herself will call, and that's always nice to know that I'm not forgotten and it's understood that I don't have insurance at the moment.

But insurance sucks, whether you have it or not. I need more health care options than what's out there for the mentally ill and are broke. Broke to the bone.

I'll be told by my partner not to worry about it. We'll make it work. It's so hard to hold onto any hope when it feels as though everything is lost and hopeless. Maybe this is how Aragorn felt when he stood in front of the gates of Mount Doom facing an army he knew he couldn't beat.

Hoping and praying that Frodo was inside and would destroy the ring. I stand with bated breath waiting for good news. For all that's good and worthwhile I need good news, good lasting news.

Pain

It's so difficult not to cut.

This is an old image. But the thing is, I struggle everyday not to do it again. This was the early stage. I ended up cutting up both hands. Nothing deep enough to draw blood and leave a scare.

The pain I feel inside is so immense that it hurts even more that no one can see it. How do I explain this? This need to have an outward showing of the pain that I carry inside me.

I've ignored the kitchen all week. I wake up take my pills, feed the chickens and go back to bed. Sleep until noon and then contemplate if I want to get out of bed.

This has been one of my toughest weeks. The laundry hasn't been touched in a week or more. One load sits on my couch folded and ready to be put away. Another load sits in the basket on said couch and yet another load sits clean in the dryer. And the clothes keep mounting up and I just don't care.

This is manic in the opposite direction. I go from doing ok, sometimes even pretty good, to being so down that all I want to do is die.

Everywhere I turn there is something stopping me from helping me get better. I feel lost and alone.

I've made a new friend. That's a good thing. I should focus on that, but instead I focus on all the other little stupid shot surrounding it.

I want drive up to the reservoir and drive my car off the road into the water. If I'm lucky I'll die before I drown. I want to swallow a bottle of pills just to make the pain go away. I want to be comfortably numb.

I want to be taken seriously on how much my illness hurts, every fucking day. I'll stop and suddenly I'll cry over my other partner deciding it was time to move on. I thought I was past that, but I'm not.

I am so bless to have a life partner that puts up with my shit. That feeds me dinner, because left to my own devices I'd hardly eat at all.

I'm writing these things in hopes that they will go away in my head. I write these things in hopes that others will know they aren't alone in their internal pain that no one can see and people refuse to understand.

We need to talk...

Let's not talk about what's real! Let's not talk about the taboo. Let's pretend that it's all in my head so that no one else has to worry about it. Let's ignore it and maybe, just maybe it will go away. 

New flash! It's here. It's real. And I can't make it go away. I can't ignore it until it goes away. That's not how it works. 

I've held it in for years. Believing I'd got it all under control. What happened? 

It exploded out of left field, it hit me and knocked the wind out of me knocking me down, like I'd been punched for unknown reasons. 

I can barely stand. Punch after punch. It won't stop. Over and over and over again. One hit, two hits, three. I can't believe I'm doing this to myself. And I can't make it stop. 

And no one wants to talk about it. Everyone wants to believe it's not there. It is not their problem so what does it matter to them? 

If I had a life threatening disease you'd care. The truth is, I do. I struggle with myself to stay alive each and every fucking day. 

Some days are with it more than others.

Mandalas

I started coloring mandalas again. I've ignored a lot of my coping skills lately. 

I think the blogging has helped a bit, thus my journaling has also slacked off. I'm almost certain that putting pen to paper would be more therapeutic than typing on a keyboard/phone. 

The colors from the mandalas are soothing. 

I get lost in my thoughts as I color. Finding the right color, regardless if it fits in or not. 

At times I'll pull out a set of colors I'll be using and I'll use no other. Other times I'll dig through my bag of pens to find the "right" color. 

The color scheme all depends on my mood. Where the pen lands sometimes arbitrary. It aslo is a look inside my mind. 

How would one translate one mandala to the next? 

I still write notes to myself as I fill in the spaces with color as they come to me. 

Back to the coffee to keep me awake during the day. Back to smoking a little marijuana to keep the anxiety a bay. Back to listening to soothing music. Back to filling in my mandalas with color in my world of grey.