Today I'm looking for answers to my severe mood shifts as of late.
Not many of you know but I have Type 2 Diabetes along with Epilepsy. This is probably caused by my medication causing me to gain so much weight, plus my eating habits as of late haven't been so good. I'll admit that sitting at home all day doesn't exactly lend itself to healthy eating.
Last week when I was feeling severely depressed my glucose levels were at 199, when they should be around 100-110. That most likely lender itself to my bad... extremely bad mood. Admittedly, I don't take my blood sugar everyday, which I should. But now that I know that it's been so high, I have no choice but to monitor it pretty closely. Hopefully, this is one of the main reasons I've been feeling this severe depression.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Thursday, February 26, 2015
If There Was A Time To Pray
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.
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.
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.
Friday, February 20, 2015
Healthy Addictions
Since my first seizure, I've been looking for something that I can attach myself to. A hobby.
I know I have an addictive personality. Before my first seizure I was completely enthralled with photography. I would buy old 35mm cameras, fix the up, and I could wait to get outside to shoot photos. I bought a film scanner so I could share my work online (flickr.com/photos/smithjryan). Eventually I turned that healthy addiction into a career of sorts. I started shooting for the local newspaper. I would get assignments everyday after my job as a graphic design (for which I was also addicted!), and drive around the area shooting youth baseball, social events, etc. I loved it. The problem was as soon as I had my first seizure, my love for photography completely disappeared. The doctors said that pieces of my personality would change and they were right about that... for the good and the bad.
Today, I've been trying to find something to attach myself to. Recently, I started to collect records and I love listening to them, but I find myself just sitting in a chair, staring at the floor while listening. There has to be something I can do that intrigues me while I listen to records. Like right now, I'm writing and there's a record spinning in the background.
Photography was something that could get me out of bed and out of the house. Records can only do that to a point. I can't drive, so it's not like I can drive around looking for records, or work in a record shop. That would be pretty cool now that I think about it!
This blog is a healthy addiction. I write and I feel a lot of the stress of the day kind of wisp away. I also have a pen-pal in the UK that I trade emails with on a semi-daily basis. We talk about our lives and what bothering us. We seem to have pretty similar lives when it comes to Epilepsy. I wish I could communicate that to other Epilepsy sufferers because it's a huge help.
That's all I can really say on the subject of addiction. I know that the word addiction is a heavy word, but it's the only word that I can really think of that describes my situation.
I would appreciate any comments on the subject. Is there anything out there, for those who know me, that would inspire me? I need to find something to do while my records are spinning.
Also, I'm approaching 8,000 views on this blog. Thanks to you all.
I know I have an addictive personality. Before my first seizure I was completely enthralled with photography. I would buy old 35mm cameras, fix the up, and I could wait to get outside to shoot photos. I bought a film scanner so I could share my work online (flickr.com/photos/smithjryan). Eventually I turned that healthy addiction into a career of sorts. I started shooting for the local newspaper. I would get assignments everyday after my job as a graphic design (for which I was also addicted!), and drive around the area shooting youth baseball, social events, etc. I loved it. The problem was as soon as I had my first seizure, my love for photography completely disappeared. The doctors said that pieces of my personality would change and they were right about that... for the good and the bad.
Today, I've been trying to find something to attach myself to. Recently, I started to collect records and I love listening to them, but I find myself just sitting in a chair, staring at the floor while listening. There has to be something I can do that intrigues me while I listen to records. Like right now, I'm writing and there's a record spinning in the background.
Photography was something that could get me out of bed and out of the house. Records can only do that to a point. I can't drive, so it's not like I can drive around looking for records, or work in a record shop. That would be pretty cool now that I think about it!
This blog is a healthy addiction. I write and I feel a lot of the stress of the day kind of wisp away. I also have a pen-pal in the UK that I trade emails with on a semi-daily basis. We talk about our lives and what bothering us. We seem to have pretty similar lives when it comes to Epilepsy. I wish I could communicate that to other Epilepsy sufferers because it's a huge help.
That's all I can really say on the subject of addiction. I know that the word addiction is a heavy word, but it's the only word that I can really think of that describes my situation.
I would appreciate any comments on the subject. Is there anything out there, for those who know me, that would inspire me? I need to find something to do while my records are spinning.
Also, I'm approaching 8,000 views on this blog. Thanks to you all.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Blizzard on an Early Sunday Morning
It's snowing outside. Snowing a lot actually. We're supposed to get nearly a foot of snow when it's all over.
Right now I'm sitting in our kitchen typing and listening to some asshole butcher a Beatles song in the bar downstairs. It's karaoke night. Obviously, I can't sleep through this so I thought I'd write instead of sit on the couch, pissed.
I had another seizure since my last post. I've been only having three or so seizures a MONTH instead of three a week on this new medication called Felbatol. There are the depression and aggression side effects that I've mentioned before, but so far I've been able to combat them with other medications and some life tools set before me by my doctors and family.
One tool was to use Twitter to meet new friends who also have Epilepsy. It's been rather interesting talking with some of these people. One person in particular is from London, England, or very close to there... a suburb I would guess. We've been trading emails for months now, and that's why I haven't been writing blog posts as often.
She and I have a similar type of Epilepsy... intractable. Basically, what that means is our condition doesn't respond, or isn't responding well to medications. Even our seizures are similar, so we can trade stories, and otherwise bitch about how much it sucks having to deal with life AND Epilepsy at the same time. The difference is, she works and I'm on disability and am not currently unemployed. All of the hardships she seems to have at work, I've also experienced. She also has the same sort of support system at her job as I did when I was still working.
I think a lot about my time as a designer, and what my life is like now. Yes, I do get very depressed when I think about it, but like I said before, there are tools that I can use to combat these feelings. They don't always work 100%, but at least they're there for me when I need them.
One tool I use a lot is music as a hobby. I find myself spending hours in front of my turntable listening to my favorite bands. I have new music (new music to me), and music from my past, like what I would listen to in college and in high school. I find that these albums always bring back good memories, never bad ones. There's something magical about that. I can't quite understand why looking through old photographs can make me so depressed, but playing the soundtrack of my past can evoke so many good feelings.
I just have to know that while the music is playing, I have to remind myself that I'm a person with a past, but with also a future.
It's still snowing.
Right now I'm sitting in our kitchen typing and listening to some asshole butcher a Beatles song in the bar downstairs. It's karaoke night. Obviously, I can't sleep through this so I thought I'd write instead of sit on the couch, pissed.
I had another seizure since my last post. I've been only having three or so seizures a MONTH instead of three a week on this new medication called Felbatol. There are the depression and aggression side effects that I've mentioned before, but so far I've been able to combat them with other medications and some life tools set before me by my doctors and family.
One tool was to use Twitter to meet new friends who also have Epilepsy. It's been rather interesting talking with some of these people. One person in particular is from London, England, or very close to there... a suburb I would guess. We've been trading emails for months now, and that's why I haven't been writing blog posts as often.
She and I have a similar type of Epilepsy... intractable. Basically, what that means is our condition doesn't respond, or isn't responding well to medications. Even our seizures are similar, so we can trade stories, and otherwise bitch about how much it sucks having to deal with life AND Epilepsy at the same time. The difference is, she works and I'm on disability and am not currently unemployed. All of the hardships she seems to have at work, I've also experienced. She also has the same sort of support system at her job as I did when I was still working.
I think a lot about my time as a designer, and what my life is like now. Yes, I do get very depressed when I think about it, but like I said before, there are tools that I can use to combat these feelings. They don't always work 100%, but at least they're there for me when I need them.
One tool I use a lot is music as a hobby. I find myself spending hours in front of my turntable listening to my favorite bands. I have new music (new music to me), and music from my past, like what I would listen to in college and in high school. I find that these albums always bring back good memories, never bad ones. There's something magical about that. I can't quite understand why looking through old photographs can make me so depressed, but playing the soundtrack of my past can evoke so many good feelings.
I just have to know that while the music is playing, I have to remind myself that I'm a person with a past, but with also a future.
It's still snowing.
Monday, January 26, 2015
Olive Drab Bag
Yesterday, I wasn't feeling good. I had a bit of a stomach ache. I laid down around noon. While I was asleep, Sara took down the Christmas tree and packed up the ornaments. When I woke up, I rolled over to her side of the bed and noticed a green messenger bag that I used to carry in college. The bag means a lot to me because it holds so many memories, and if you know me, I have a hard time letting things from my past go.
I must've stared at the bag for ten minutes, each one of those minutes I thought of all the times I walked to and from class and the items I carried in it.
There was a girl in college who liked the bag very much and offered to buy it from me. She offered nearly every time she saw me carry it. At the end, the price she offered was $50. A lot of money for a kid in art school. I always declined because the bag meant so much to me.
While staring at the bag while I was in bed, a strong wave a depression came over me. I've been having these sorts of episodes quite often but this one was different because it involved my past and the mindset I had in college.
I had such big dreams then. The world was so big and my future as a professional designer was endless. I never thought in a million years that it would come to an end the way it did.
So here I am, staring at a green bag, clinically depressed and there was nothing I could do about it except to communicate this to Sara. We had a long conversation about it, and she talked to me about what it meant to be a person in my (our) situation.
Life in college was so simple. I studied, I worked hard for grades, I made friends, I met my future wife. All good things. We talked about what I have now and that my future isn't written yet. This was the kind of conversation I needed to help me though these feelings of regret and remorse.
I still see the bag in our room, and I see it in my mind. I can't say as though I am completely over the depression, but I can see that my life is different than I expected for a reason. I am a man with Epilepsy. A strong man, even though sometimes I feel so weak and defeated.
I'm trying hard to live up to this. I'm trying to use the tools set before me to combat these feelings. They're working just enough to get me out of depression and on to reconstruction of the life I'm destined to lead.
Thank you, Sara.
I must've stared at the bag for ten minutes, each one of those minutes I thought of all the times I walked to and from class and the items I carried in it.
There was a girl in college who liked the bag very much and offered to buy it from me. She offered nearly every time she saw me carry it. At the end, the price she offered was $50. A lot of money for a kid in art school. I always declined because the bag meant so much to me.
While staring at the bag while I was in bed, a strong wave a depression came over me. I've been having these sorts of episodes quite often but this one was different because it involved my past and the mindset I had in college.
I had such big dreams then. The world was so big and my future as a professional designer was endless. I never thought in a million years that it would come to an end the way it did.
So here I am, staring at a green bag, clinically depressed and there was nothing I could do about it except to communicate this to Sara. We had a long conversation about it, and she talked to me about what it meant to be a person in my (our) situation.
Life in college was so simple. I studied, I worked hard for grades, I made friends, I met my future wife. All good things. We talked about what I have now and that my future isn't written yet. This was the kind of conversation I needed to help me though these feelings of regret and remorse.
I still see the bag in our room, and I see it in my mind. I can't say as though I am completely over the depression, but I can see that my life is different than I expected for a reason. I am a man with Epilepsy. A strong man, even though sometimes I feel so weak and defeated.
I'm trying hard to live up to this. I'm trying to use the tools set before me to combat these feelings. They're working just enough to get me out of depression and on to reconstruction of the life I'm destined to lead.
Thank you, Sara.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
