A down comforter

A down comforter. Three of my favorite pillows.
This has been my surroundings for the month of December.
I spent more or less the entire month in bed. The bathroom a short jump away. I made trips to the kitchen for drinks and snacks, but mostly, I laid here.

I do not feel depressed. My mood is fine. I can laugh and joke. I just do it in bed. Some days I am pretty irritable, but not depressed.
I am thinking part of the problem is having no where else to go. I need more activities to take up my day. Yet, I have no desire to seek these things out. I am content. But also afraid. I know things arent right if I am in bed all day and sleeping until 4.
My goal for January is to see less of my bed even though I love it so.

I feel anger and disappointment to those around me who have not stepped in and asked the questions I feel like should be asked of someone who doesnt leave their bed. I feel as if Ive been forgotten.


Wild Geese   Mary Oliver

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about your despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting --
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Paralyzed and Dope Sick

Sorry for not posting lately, a lot has happened. I changed meds, had the worst nightmares of my life, experienced sleep paralysis, went through benzo withdrawl, traveled to El Paso, Texas, met my new nephew, went through all my journals from my twenties and when I got sick and took control over my own recovery.

So, a lot to cover.

I spoke up for myself when meeting with my new doctor. Usually, I'll just check in and do what they say/take the meds they prescribe. But this time I felt strong. I asked for the med changes I wanted to see and explained that I felt over medicated and would like to reduce my Geodon. It worked. My dosage has been cut in half. I can't describe the pride I felt. I was no longer just the patient. I was my own advocate and had made changes to my treatment all by speaking up. I can't recommend it enough. Speak up for yourself. Tell them what you need and don't need. Take charge.

With the new med changes, I was prescribed a new medicine for sleep. Tamazepam. It was horrible. I slept maybe two hours a night due to debilitating nightmares. One night I even experienced sleep paralysis which is terrifying and feels like you are actually losing your mind or on psychadelic drugs. So, i decided to stop taking it. I didn't consider any withdrawl effects because I hadnt been taking it for to long. I was wrong. First it was nausea. Nonstop. I was chewing tums and drinking Pepto Bismal like they were the key to world peace. This went on for days. I assumed it was due to the decrease in Geodon and that it would pass as my levels evened out. Being sick to your stomach nonstop for a long period of time really beats you down. I was miserable and felt so weak. The pride I had felt at taking charge of my medicine quickly deteriorated and I feared I'd never be able to come off my antipsychotics if this was the result. My nausea led to the shakes and an all over ache that tensed me from head to toe.
Finally, upon seeing my therapist all I could do was cry. She sent me to see my doctor. Looking me over and hearing I had stopped taking the Tamazepam, he explained I was going through benzo withdrawal. Which can be deadly. He took my blood pressure, asked if I had had a seizure because it was so high and proceeded to write me a prescription for Klonopin and insisted that I get it filled immediately.
It has made all the difference. Yet, what I didnt want was to add another med to my regimen, so I will safely taper off the klonopin in time.

During all this, my sister had a baby. This brought up a lot of feelings that I can go into another time.
I also visited El Paso to see my husband's family.

I also went through all my old journals from my twenties. Tracing my sickness from when it first reared its head to when the shit all hit the fan.

I learned a lot reading over those. Maybe I'll share in a future post.

So, I apologize for the delay in posts. Things were happening. Good and bad. I was living. That is the most important thing.

Peanut Butter and a poem

I just sat and listened to two ladies discuss peanut butter for a good fifteen minutes. All I could think about was how nice life must be if you find so much pleasure in discussing a condiment.
I was out listening because I actually had lunch with a friend today. Yup, I got out of the house and socialized. I don't feel tremendously better, but it did help distract me and I wasn't anxious at all. Except that she was about 15 minutes late and I started to worry she might not even come.
I've decided to attend a NAMI support group at my local mental health clinic. They meet weekly so it could be a good reason to get out and do something. I'll update on how it goes after Wednesday.

I started a playlist of songs I can end each post with so that's exciting. Music is so helpful. Just riding in the car with my music loud makes me in such a better mood. I suggest spending more time listening to music if you don't already.
I also started looking at poems to include here and there just because I like poetry. If you don't, sorry folks.
Here's the first one, a favorite of mine.

Splash

the illusion is that you are simply
reading this poem.
the reality is that this is
more than a
poem.
this is a beggar's knife.
this is a tulip.
this is a soldier marching
through Madrid.
his is you on your
death bed.
this is Li Po laughing
underground.
this is not a god-damned
poem.
this is a horse asleep.
a butterfly in
your brain.
this is the devil's
circus.
you are not reading this
on a page.
the page is reading
you.
feel it?
it's like a cobra. it's a hungry eagle circling the room.

this is not a poem. poems are dull,
they make you sleep.

these words force you
to a new
madness.

you have been blessed, you have been pushed into a
blinding area of
light.

the elephant dreams
with you
now.
the curve of space
bends and
laughs.

you can die now.
you can die now as
people were meant to
die:
great,
victorious,
hearing the music,
being the music,
roaring,
roaring,
roaring. 

Charles Bukowski

Neverending

There's a stretch of marshland near my house Danny and I refer to as the Swamp of Sadness. It really looks like it could swallow you whole if you were to walk unhappily through it.
This has me reflecting on The Neverending Story, one of the best movies ever, and how the swamp of sadness scene really hits home.
A couple years ago I wouldv'e been Artax. Slowly sinking as the muck rose around me. Depressed and hopeless with no future in sight. I almost sank. I got damn near close. I'd say ears deep in muds of misery.
Then there was Danny. And family. They were like Atreyu, pulling and screaming at me as I sank further, wishing me out of the sadness. In the movie, Artax inevitably sinks and succumbs to the swamps. I, on the other hand, pushed through the depths of the sadness and failed to sink regardless of how much I may have yearned for sinking.
Today, I still live in the Swamp of Sadness. Though I failed to be swallowed, I still remain there.
Now, I am Morla. Wisest in all of Fantasia. Sitting silently with myself in the Swamp of Sadness, not caring much about anything. In the movie Morla has some lines I can relate all to closely with:
'We don't care whether or not we care'
 'Die? Now that at least would be something.'

So there's that, my life retold as the Neverending Story. Where once I was the brave and then fallen Artax, now I am the wise and uncaring Morla, wasting my days away in the muck of the swamp of sadness.

Volunteering

I have been on disability almost two years now.
I have attempted to work twice? since starting. It didnt work out either time.
Last year, when I started to feel a little less depressed than I had been, I started to notice a little cabin fever going on. Don't get me wrong, I can spend weeks in bed watching Law and Order SVU, but I got to the point where that wasn't doing much for me. Not showering, eating and drinking in bed, leaving to only go to the bathroom..it all was making me worse. On a clear day, I noticed this and started thinking on what I could do to make myself feel a little more productive.
Something other than getting a job and having to commit to 30 or 40 hours a week and a schedule I can't control.
I thought about my interests. The interests I have on good days, when I find anything interesting.
I googled organizations and clubs in my area that had to do with said interests.
I found Reading Partners, an organization that works with elementary school children on their reading.
I started volunteering twice a week with them for 45 minute sessions.

This has made all the difference.
Feeling accomplished and successful at something made me feel much better.
On the days I volunteered, my mood would be better.
I won't lie, there's days I just can't go. I can't see myself out of the bed. On those days, I accept things and stay home.
It happens.
But I can't recommend enough the duty of volunteering.

I'm not completely broken down. I can still be involved in life. Everything is not just passing me by.

A good ride in the car. Time to listen to the radio. Reading with a child for 45 minutes.
This makes a day brighten.

Go out and volunteer. It helps.


And always on a good day...

Birthday and Accidents

I'm safe after not sleeping again the other night. Thats twice last week I didnt sleep. Really looking forward to seeing the doctor and hopefully getting a new med to try to help me with sleeping. The second day without sleep wasn't as depressing as the first 'Electric' day went. I had Adderol so that kept me functioning on auto pilot for the most part. A lot of thinking and talking openly with others where I may not otherwise. A lot of questions were asked. I read alot.

A lot of mental health blogs and suicide survivor stories. Live Through This is a great project. I'm still going through the stories myself. It's been edited to not be so triggering but I'd tread carefully if you are easily triggered. I'm not, so I read without caution. Also came across a 'game' called Depression Quest that is like a choose your own ending story where you are living the life of a depressed individual. I got a little bored so I stopped but Ill revisit just because Id like to see how it ends.

I also got into an accident with my car twice this week. First while sending an email in the car, I rear ended the lady in front of me. Bound to happen, I know. Lesson learned. No email while driving.
Second, I go to reverse in the driveway and drive right into my dad's car leaving a nice long streak of white paint down the side of his car. I thought I had gotten off lucky with the first accident cause I had no damage, but I guess it was just meant to be since I really fucked it the second go round.

I guess what should have been most important this week was my birthday. October 10th. 29. I guess I mostly feel accomplished on birthdays as I get older. Since I've been young, I've always thought Id die an early death. Not necessarily by my own hands, but Id die in some way. Hasn't happen yet, so I feel proud. Strong that I haven't let the darkness win. Like a fighter.
These are feelings of a good day I guess.
There's also those days when its just enough. On those days I say ' Ive had enough' out loud quite often. To myself and to others. Those days Im done. Fighting is just old news and all I can focus on is the how long everything seems. To fight FOREVER. Every day until I die. Just fighting. It feels like so much. Like so much work for so little pay off. I'd like to know if all my fighting will be worth it in the end. Yet I cant know the answer to that unless I make it to the end.
I get frustrated.
I'm safe now. My meds seem to have me regulated. I don't feel depressed most days. Though I do feel it is still with me, like a scum I can't quite wash off. It kisses everything around me and within me. Like all experiences and feelings go through this slick of depression first. Nothing is shiny and new, its all been tainted.
I dont not enjoy things. Double negative. But i cant say I completely do enjoy things either.
It's an overwhelmingly boring in between.
When Im depressed, theres so much more going on. Emotions are flared, I feel things deeper.
Now, in this state, things are just meh. Boring.

That's why I take the Adderol usually. It makes me interested again. I can read a book and not feel like its a chore. I want to participate in life and experience the things. But mostly I want to be alone and read. Not isolating necessarily, but enjoying the constructive alone time. I savor the moments I feel truly alive. Drug induced or not.

I listen to this often. Never got into the Velvet Underground or Nico, but I relax during this song.

Electric

First blogging experience so I'm sure this will come out fucked in some way.

Here we go...

I didn't sleep one night last week. Recipe for disaster. Not long after the sun rises and Danny has left for work, leaving me naked in the bed alone. I start to feel it. Inside, out on my skin. ELECTRIC! I can feel lightning in every nerve of my body. I am truly alive. And the lightning is painful. Every soft touch sends electric storms running through me. I have hit the roadblock. From this moment on, until I finally sleep, things are going to go badly. 

Hey, I can handle this. Been here before. Hell, I've missed sleep for three days before (we'll save the details on those days for later). Why can't I make it through this day?

Hey man, if it were that easy I'd never sleep. I feel alive at 4 in the morning. Alone. My thoughts to cuddle with. But fuck, TODAY and this ELECTRIC thrum ravaging me. I know I've got a day ahead of me. I walk to get something to drink. I've got that late-night no sleep dry throat thing going.

EVERY STEP VIBRATES MY LIMBS. DOWN TOMY CORE. Get a drink. Fuck it, I'm not leaving this bed today. Here I am safe. Here I can maintain control over whatever may happen. 

But I know it already. I know my body. I know what these sensations mean.

I'm going to be sick. Headsick.

Sick in the head.

However you wanna spell it out. No sleep equals a ride on the crazy train. Show clowns and all.

I start off strong. I've got a fort made in my bed. I'm planning out emergency procedures in case things get really real and I go dark.

This is so easy. One night. That's all it took to get me here. Fucking Trazadone. It ain't worth a shit. Hell, I'd eat the whole bottle if it'd put me to sleep. I fantasize going out like that. 'Kayla wanted so badly to sleep she ate a bottle of pills. Well, she sleeps forever now.' 

Law and Order SVU. Yeah, I'm unstable right now. Vulnerable as all get out. Its a thin line between being uncomfortable and spilling blood. Thin. In spite of this, rather than be smart and watch a comedy (Adam Sandler or some shit) I'm going to watch this messed up show which focuses on all things that make me anxious. Rapists in your bedroom? Sure! Mother who fries her son's hand in kitchen grease? Sure! This is oh so therapeutic. 

But I . just. can't. help. it.

I feed off the darkness. I'm comfortable with the unsettling things. 

Makes me feel like I'm sitting in my own head. Maybe inside my head is worse. I could write something truly horrific for Olivia Benson, Detective Munch and my man Ice T to deal with.

Time goes by. I've already convinced myself that if I fall asleep now, in the daytime, come tonight I won't be able to sleep again. Makes sense.

But I can't help wondering....not trusting myself..do I want to stay up just to see where this goes? Do I want to be sick? 

It's been awhile, things have been okay, do I miss my sick self? Am I sabotaging my 'recovery', my ability to live somewhat on the side of stable...just for my own entertainment's sake?I'm my own clown. Watch as I fall. Take notes on how it goes so I can belittle myself later.

This is all getting to be a bit much over just a little lost sleep.

This shit is real. This is huge to me. It feels as if this is the great battle of my life- making it through this day. 

Isn't that what they teach you at the hospital? In therapy? 

Fuck what are they called. Things that make you vulnerable. Warning signs.

They always say SLEEP. Get enough sleep and stay sane.

Fuck.I should've tried harder to sleep.

My day moved about as fast as this post.

Not very.

Mom's in the living room. This is why i miss living alone. Here I am, wrapped up in my selfish,self-centered, self-loathing bubble and I've got to step outside this. This which is in a way comforting to me. These feelings are recognizable. I understand my brain better when its all fucked.

But I still love. And I know mom will be worried about me. Can't let her see me breaking. Can't afford to worry my go-to

reason for living.

(It is: my mom. Her life has kept me engaged in my own. But oh! The freedom

 to let it all take over once she's dead.)

I'll go try and eat something and sit with her. 

I do just that. Lo and behold! she just happens to be watching a movie which so convienently happens to be at probably the most triggering scene for me.

Cut to awkward feeling when drunk dad makes a speech. Cut to suicide.

My tears are in my throat now. Soggy bread.

I'm outta there. Lightning quick.

She knows I'm not doing well now. Great.

I return to the darkness. The safety. Law and Order SVU. Body full of electric pulsing that just won't go away. DO OTHER PEOPLE FEELTHIS?Is this just a symptom I have when my mental health is being put on trial?Its surreal. It doesn't make sense to me. Am I feeling this pulsing? This tingling? 

I'd love to know others feel it too. 

I spend the day with a pact to be strong. Be the strongest little sad girl that ever lived. AM I NOT A BADASS? Now is time to be that badass. But man its hard. Every fucking thing is making me cry. I'm thinking the most fucked up things I can to feel myself cry. Or rather, to feel how strong I feel when I don't cry. Let's play a game. Try anything to make me cry. I get points for facing the dark sick Kayla. 

I only sob once. Into a pillow.

That's when I break down and text Danny. I need help now. All games aside, this is starting to get bleak and if I've learned one thing its to be sensible enough to pull my head out of my sick ass and ASK FOR HELP.

I am making so many social workers proud right now. Look at me! Reaching out!

Of course then Im all guilt. 'Look what you do to other people with your sickness'. 'You married this poor man and now he has to take care of your sorry ass.' This is all stuff for later.

I eventually slept. On a borrowed Seroquel.

First blog entry. MAN I feel good now that all that stuff isn't sitting in my head anymore. Don't know if I'll tell Danny or my therapist I started a blog. Maybe I'll share. 

This entry is all to relevant and important for me to look over right now.

It's 4:58AM. and I haven't slept.

To be continued...