Ok. Deep breath. This is the third post that I've written since Monday. The first two I couldn't post because my mind wasn't right. I can still feel that things aren't 100%, but hopefully this post makes it to your eyes.
If there's a hell, I've been experiencing it this week. I've been very honest to Sara and my doctors, which is a big step from just a few years ago. Maybe that has saved me. I can say that even writing hasn't helped me feel much better, which is a huge change because usually after I write I feel at least a tad better about whatever is going on.
This is a clinical depression and I've found that it doesn't take much for me to have feelings of aggression towards myself fill my mind. I haven't had a seizure in a couple weeks, but I'll tell you that Epilepsy is a dream when compared to what I'm going though now. With my seizures, I lose consciousness for a time, feel sick to my stomach, confused, and eventually I fall asleep. When I wake up, I feel groggy with a slight headache. Generally, after it's all said and done I feel much better psychologically. I'm a little bummed that I had a seizure because the clock is turned back to zero when it comes to being cured, but I feel like there is very little that I can do to cure my depression. It's always there, and it's very dangerous.
The time of year, being at home alone all day locked in my house, and having nothing to keep my mind busy except the same music and TV shows playing everyday isn't helping either.
Yesterday, my doctors wanted samples of my blood to check all of my medication levels to see if there was a problem there. I woke up with Sara and rode to the city with her on her way to work to be dropped off at my sister's house which is just a few blocks from the hospital. The ride was silent.
After hanging out with my sister, we got out and ate lunch in the city before walking over to the hospital to have my levels taken. I could feel that just by walking and being surrounded by people helped my mood, no matter how temporary that might've been. After the hospital, my sister and I just chilled on the couch and watched for home improvement shows. I felt good.
My doctors suggested that I attend something called Intense Outpatient Therapy. It's basically a month long analysis of my mental health, and classes to teach me better coping skills. I really have no choice but to agree to this treatment. It's not like I'm skeptical about the program, but I'm worried about my ability to absorb the information and actually use what I've learned in real life.
All I can say about what I'm feeling is that it's totally out of my control. It feels like a wave rushing over me. It starts in my chest and stomach eventually enters my psyche. It's like a bad drug slowly flowing through my veins. I don't really notice it until it's too late. By the time I realize what's happening I've already had several dark visions.
I talked to my psychiatrist over the phone for the majority of the yesterday, trying to get my mind right and set me up for the Intense Outpatient Therapy (IOT). Then, guess what!!?? I find out that my new insurance doesn't cover my psychiatrist at NW or the IOT! So, I spent the rest of the day trying to reinstate my old insurance. I cleared my checking and savings account, but I was successful.
So take the man with Epilepsy with emotional disorders on disability and basically steal his money. What a world we live in. Now, it looks like I'm eating pasta that we've had stored in the cupboard and stay home (not exactly what I need) for the next couple weeks.
If there was any time to pray it would be today.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Tuesday, February 24, 2015
Yesterday
Yesterday was hell. I could've just left it at that, but I wanted to clarify to all of you exactly why I would write that.
I wrote a post yesterday... all day actually, in spurts. I just couldn't post it because it hurt too much. I thought by writing down exactly how I felt yesterday that it would somehow drive me out of my severe depression, but it only seemed to make it much worse.
I have a feeling that this post is going to take all day to write, as well.
I tried everything set before me to help, but I just had to "ride it out". By the time that the depression started to fizzle away, it was time for me to go to bed at 9:00pm. I'm never sure as to why days like yesterday, and a smaller bit today, actually happen. They just happen. It could be the weather, bad news, or more likely... a seizure is coming.
It was very cold, but I thought that maybe some fresh air would help, so I opened a window, and took a short trip outside to the store next door to buy a bag of chips or whatever. That was around noon. I thought that maybe music would help, but the memories attached to that music sunk me deeper. I just couldn't think of anything that would at least give me a 15 minute break from the pain I was suffering.
It's obviously a chemical imbalance, because there were, and haven't been, any clear signs as to why these episodes start. I'm trying to be "matter of fact" with this post and not dive into the past to churn up any bad thoughts or actions that I may have took when dealing with these issues in the past. If you know me, or have read this blog, you may have an idea as to what I'm talking about.
I wrote a post yesterday... all day actually, in spurts. I just couldn't post it because it hurt too much. I thought by writing down exactly how I felt yesterday that it would somehow drive me out of my severe depression, but it only seemed to make it much worse.
I have a feeling that this post is going to take all day to write, as well.
I tried everything set before me to help, but I just had to "ride it out". By the time that the depression started to fizzle away, it was time for me to go to bed at 9:00pm. I'm never sure as to why days like yesterday, and a smaller bit today, actually happen. They just happen. It could be the weather, bad news, or more likely... a seizure is coming.
It was very cold, but I thought that maybe some fresh air would help, so I opened a window, and took a short trip outside to the store next door to buy a bag of chips or whatever. That was around noon. I thought that maybe music would help, but the memories attached to that music sunk me deeper. I just couldn't think of anything that would at least give me a 15 minute break from the pain I was suffering.
It's obviously a chemical imbalance, because there were, and haven't been, any clear signs as to why these episodes start. I'm trying to be "matter of fact" with this post and not dive into the past to churn up any bad thoughts or actions that I may have took when dealing with these issues in the past. If you know me, or have read this blog, you may have an idea as to what I'm talking about.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Winter Depression
I'm usually not effected by the winter. Of, course isn't tough to stay inside for months, but this year has been especially horrible.
Everyday I'm looking for a new way to distract me from my depression. Whether it's relatively harmless things like junk food and sleep, maybe Netflix shows over and over and over, or harmful things like alcohol or the urge to use smokeless tobacco (I've had a run-in with it before). Anything to help me forget that I'm stuck in this apartment that I've nicknamed the "box".
When Sara leaves for the day, my mornings are generally ok. When the sun is out, I listen to my records, and relax. But when noon rolls around, I find that I start thinking deeply about my situation and it scares the shit out of me. Writing, like what I'm doing now, helps a lot, but as soon as I finish the last sentence, I go back to my rocking chair and think about my health. It's the number one thing on my mind.
Days like today, I pray for a seizure because I know that most times after a seizure I feel tired and I go to sleep. I can finally relax. I've talked about interictal psychosis quite a bit on this blog, but I guess I can't reiterate it enough. The time between seizures for me is either a time when I'm in a great mood and I can celebrate the day, or it's a time when I can't even bring myself to lift a finger.
I've been talking to Sara about chores at home and the anxiety that builds inside of me. An example would be a sink full of dishes. I try to avoid the kitchen so I don't have to look at them. I use the same glass for days as to not make anymore dishes to wash. It could take days for me to finally get enough energy in my blood to fill the sink with water and spend the 15 minutes it takes to finally tackle them.
I can feel that right now, if I called Sara and heard her voice I would totally lose it on the phone. My eyes well up with tears and I curse myself for not being the man I wish to be. Even writing this now has got me a little emotional. I'm taking breaks while writing this to get the confidence to write the complete story.
Recently, I was asked to write an article to be published on an Epilepsy awareness website based in Europe. I wrote the article in a year-by-year format. I found that 2008-2011 was fairly easy for me to talk about, but 2012-today took days to write. When I cut my wrist in 2012, I remember laying on the floor of the bathroom with police surrounding me while I kept uttering to Sara that I was tired. I repeated it over and over. I'm sorry to say that those feelings haven't left me. I'm still just so tired even today... especially days like today.
I've been given tools be my psychologist and medications by my psychiatrist to help combat these feeling, and I use them everyday. What happened in 2012 will never happen again because I know how to recognize the warning signs, and ask for help. We were in the ER late last year because I told Sara that I was seeing some of these warning signs. It did very little. I was taken down off of one of my Epilepsy medications that causes aggression and anxiety when taken in large doses.
I don't think I even have the strength to post this message because of the possible fall out I may have with Sara, my family, and my doctors. Maybe writing this is just for me to get it written down. Again, I'm just so tired.
Everyday I'm looking for a new way to distract me from my depression. Whether it's relatively harmless things like junk food and sleep, maybe Netflix shows over and over and over, or harmful things like alcohol or the urge to use smokeless tobacco (I've had a run-in with it before). Anything to help me forget that I'm stuck in this apartment that I've nicknamed the "box".
When Sara leaves for the day, my mornings are generally ok. When the sun is out, I listen to my records, and relax. But when noon rolls around, I find that I start thinking deeply about my situation and it scares the shit out of me. Writing, like what I'm doing now, helps a lot, but as soon as I finish the last sentence, I go back to my rocking chair and think about my health. It's the number one thing on my mind.
Days like today, I pray for a seizure because I know that most times after a seizure I feel tired and I go to sleep. I can finally relax. I've talked about interictal psychosis quite a bit on this blog, but I guess I can't reiterate it enough. The time between seizures for me is either a time when I'm in a great mood and I can celebrate the day, or it's a time when I can't even bring myself to lift a finger.
I've been talking to Sara about chores at home and the anxiety that builds inside of me. An example would be a sink full of dishes. I try to avoid the kitchen so I don't have to look at them. I use the same glass for days as to not make anymore dishes to wash. It could take days for me to finally get enough energy in my blood to fill the sink with water and spend the 15 minutes it takes to finally tackle them.
I can feel that right now, if I called Sara and heard her voice I would totally lose it on the phone. My eyes well up with tears and I curse myself for not being the man I wish to be. Even writing this now has got me a little emotional. I'm taking breaks while writing this to get the confidence to write the complete story.
Recently, I was asked to write an article to be published on an Epilepsy awareness website based in Europe. I wrote the article in a year-by-year format. I found that 2008-2011 was fairly easy for me to talk about, but 2012-today took days to write. When I cut my wrist in 2012, I remember laying on the floor of the bathroom with police surrounding me while I kept uttering to Sara that I was tired. I repeated it over and over. I'm sorry to say that those feelings haven't left me. I'm still just so tired even today... especially days like today.
I've been given tools be my psychologist and medications by my psychiatrist to help combat these feeling, and I use them everyday. What happened in 2012 will never happen again because I know how to recognize the warning signs, and ask for help. We were in the ER late last year because I told Sara that I was seeing some of these warning signs. It did very little. I was taken down off of one of my Epilepsy medications that causes aggression and anxiety when taken in large doses.
I don't think I even have the strength to post this message because of the possible fall out I may have with Sara, my family, and my doctors. Maybe writing this is just for me to get it written down. Again, I'm just so tired.
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