I was very sad. Very upset. About something that happened in my real life. I was anxious, scared, angry and upset. But as with so many things, there was no resolution. Things just left in the air. Left to stab. Left to scathe. That’s what life is, I guess.
Because I was ignored. As per the usual. It is quite possible, and in fact likely, that the person is angry and thus ignoring me. Again, such are humans.
Read MorePeople are frequently telling me what to do to feel better:
(And actually, it’s the first two I get all the time, but I’m not going to talk about it because it’s just too touchy a subject.)
So instead, at HealthyPlace I address the issue of gratitude. I am, in fact, grateful for many things. Right now I am sitting on a comfy couch that’s paid for, watching my cats run around and play, enjoying the beautiful sunshine, with Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer. I am thankful for these things. In spite of gratitude however, my bipolar depression doesn’t seem to get better.
(And yes, it bugs me that people think I’m not grateful just because of depression. And yes, it bugs me that people think that if I were grateful I would get better. And yes, people bug me.)
Read MoreNow I’m not a doctor, in fact, I don’t even play one on TV, but I wanted to share a little about me and how I’m handling getting off of, or at least reducing, Pristiq.
I’ve been talking the antidepressant Pristiq (desvenlafaxine) for months and it doesn’t seem to be doing much, but honestly, the withdrawal from Pristiq is so bad I didn’t want to attempt getting off of it. As you might know, Pristiq is a metabolite of Effexor and Effexor, another antidepressant, is also a nightmare to get off of. If I would miss a Pristiq dose by even a few hours I would become suicidally depressed. Really. No joke.
So getting off of Pristiq wasn’t on my short list of fun things to do. There is no taper strategy for Pristiq as it only comes in 50 mg and 100 mg tablets and you cannot cut them.
But I seem to be successfully reducing the dose of Pristiq with minimal impact and withdrawal.
Read MoreToday I feel angry.
Really angry.
Today I feel that my mentally ill, depressed, bipolar life is inexorably unfair.
Today I hate everyone.
Yes, I know, I’m supposed to be better than that. Yes, I know, I’m supposed to rise above that. Yes, I know that isn’t fair or particularly true. But I feel it anyway. You try being this depressed. You try being this suicidal. See how many people you hate.
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I have had this exchange a thousand times,
“I’m really depressed.”
“Why, what happened?”
Have you been missing the plot?
Bipolar disorder is defined as the cycling of moods between a depression and a mania, or hypomania. It is not characterized by being cut off in traffic and then being depressed about it.
Read MoreHere is today’s interview with me, Natasha Tracy, complete with call-in questions. I think it went well. We discussed some of the negative impact bipolar has had on my life. I talked about bipolar disorder, depression, suicide, coping and how my writings at HealthyPlace have been controversial.
Read MoreThis silence feels familiar. I despise the deafening, familiar sounds of silence. They terrify me. I suppose the silence strangles me. Strangled, alone, screaming.
People who know me, know this about me. They know how much I hate being ignored. They know that when they don’t return my calls or my emails my mind riles in negative and catastrophic scenarios. People who actually like me don’t want to do that to me.
Read MoreThere are frequent reports that of the people who survive suicide attempts, they realized sometime after the pills, or the gun, or the jump, they didn’t want to die. This is obvious. No one wants to die. People who attempt suicide don’t want to die. They want to be out of pain.
People Who Attempt Suicide Don’t Want to Die, They Want to Be Free of PainIt is obvious that every human wants to live. No matter what their personal circumstance each human claws against death until they either don’t see it coming, or they feel there is no alternative for them.
Many people actually have no problem with that – we call it doctor-assisted suicide. The reason it’s “OK” to kill yourself near the end of your life is because it is medically certain you will be in agony for the short remainder of your existence. In this instance doctors just turn their head while a little extra morphine is administered. Happens all the time.
No one, however, recognizes mental illness as a terminal illness. It can never be determined to a medical certainty that the rest of your life will be lived in agony. Even though it might be. Tomorrow might be different. Magic might happen. A unicorn might walk through my front door. But probably not. Tomorrow is probably going to be exactly like today. Only it’ll be Saturday. Yay.
The problem with a disorder like depression is that pleasure is simply absent. Pleasure in all ways is gone. Desire is gone. Depressed people don’t like anything. Depressed people don’t want to do anything. And even if something extraordinary were to happen, like a unicorn in your living room, it wouldn’t matter. Because the ability to feel pleasure is gone.
And if anhedonia weren’t enough to make life absolutely pointless, there’s the adding of pain on top of it. Pain on top of pain on top of the unbearable, unarguable knowledge of more pain. And still, the fact is, I don’t want to die. I just really don’t want to live. Like this.
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Anxiolytic Isn’t Even in the DictionaryI grit my jaw. I bite the skin around my nails. I pull at my hair. I bunch my fists. My breaths are shallow. I twitch and clench erratically.
I tell myself not to grit, bite, pull, bunch, twitch and clench. I tell myself to intake more air. Those instructions are followed. For moments. And then they’re not. While I wasn’t looking I started gritting, biting, pulling, bunching, twitching, and clenching all over again.
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