Broken record

I’m heading deeper into the depression. Sleeping 14 hours a night is something I’ve been doing for roughly a week by now. I’m trying to cut myself some slack but without much success. It’s gotten to the point where I’ve told my nurse at the psychiatrist ward that I want to get in contact with my doctor, the chief physician, to look over if we can adjust my medication or do something else to give me some relief from the anxiety.

My downwards spiral was worsened by a letter that arrived in my mailbox two days ago. It was from my administrator at Försäkringskassan. The letter said that they are “considering” rejecting my application for disability pension since I’m not sick enough, or something like that. Now, I know they are strict with their judgement but it still affected me very badly.

I’ve tried to get in contact with the administrator, as the letter suggests that I can, to talk about why they are considering rejecting my application and if there’s something I can do to explain just how much I’m affected by this crap. For two days there’s been nothing but silence. I did leave her a message the day the letter came, saying I wanted to get in touch with her.

Today she finally called, two minutes after I went into my opticians office. Two minutes!! 😠The only half hour the past 72 hours that I really couldn’t answer she calls. I was so pissed off once I saw that I had missed her call. So now I need to carry on with myself and wait yet another day and hope that she calls me tomorrow and that I can answer, or that I get hold of her somehow before she leaves her office for the weekend.

My whole body aches at this point. I’ve had to take my migraine nasal spray and painkillers to at least alleviate the pain somewhat. I was in bed by 21:30 (9:30 pm) yesterday and it looks like this will be the case for today as well. But considering that I know that the administrator at Försäkringskassan will be in her office at 08:00 (8 am) I might just want to go to bed early so I can get up and call her first thing tomorrow.

I feel so whiny. But sadly, this is what’s up right now. There aren’t many things that are on my mind, just really big ones. The move. The polyp and possible new cancer cases in the family. The administrator and the whole shebang with that. One of these things had been enough. But this is how it is according to Murphys Law, everything that can go wrong will go wrong and preferably at the same time.

Now excuse me, I’ll go hide in the arms of my husband for the rest of the evening.

No rest for the wicked

This always happens nowadays. A thing, an event: “X” is scheduled to happen. For days before “X”, I go with heavy steps thinking “I don’t want to do X”. I force myself to do “X” anyway. I think, “I gotta get used to doing shit like this sometime” and truck on.

Sometimes “X” goes well and I enjoy myself even though I felt so badly about it beforehand. Sometimes “X” heads straight to hell and I’m panicking before it even begins. In the latter case I must heavily medicate with extra anti-anxiety meds to just be able to stay in the room, let alone be sane enough to hold a coherent conversation.

But as a interesting side effect, I can’t remember shit. This is because some of the heavier anti-anxiety meds affect the ability to form short term memories. So I don’t only have to try to reason with myself when I’m panicking with anxiety coming out of my every pore, I also have to battle memory loss. “Well, that’s an easy fix isn’t it?” some helpful cretin asks me “Just take less meds and the problem are gone! No?” Sigh..

For days after “X” I shuffle around at home like a zombie in PJ’s, unable to rest but too tired to do something constructive. My mind is constantly buzzing with what if’s and I writhe, obsessing over every word I exchanged with everyone. The unrest makes me feel annoyed and I lash out at everything, but even that only gives me grief for I hate not being able to control my temper and let my mood go out over the ones I love.

But I reject the cats, T and anyone else who try to come close. I can conceal it, hide whatever feeling I’m having at the moment when out from the apartment, but the anger are still there. I just want to be left alone. I don’t have energy to handle myself, much less handle anyone else at that moment.

It’s so much easier to just isolate myself then have to explain this time and time again. T knows me well enough by now to just leave me alone when I enter this kind of mood, I’ve even learnt to communicate that need to him. It’s closely connected to my energy levels and we both know that it will go away once I get some rest. But how soon that will happen is anyone’s guess.

This time the “X” was the last session of my Mage group yesterday. I’ve had crippling anxiety because of it, but I was determined to have it happen as I wanted to talk to the group about shutting the campaign down. I felt like I was clear when I said it would be the last session we had before we moved. Some seemed to pick up on the wording but for some it just flew over their heads. So now I’m tired because of the social interaction from yesterday and also because I’m beating myself up for the poor wording I obviously had.

But I will have no time for rest. The move is quickly coming upon us and I still feel like I have so much to do. Even when the anxiety for the RPG-session goes away, I will still be stressed out about the move. I both long for the 19th of February and fears it at the same time. I need to feel my secured fort beneath my feet, this move is shaking everything at the moment.

My home is my castle (cont)

I ended yesterdays post with the line “I’m not ready to let go of this place just yet”. Since then I’ve read and re-read (like I always do) the post and this particular line got me thinking. It’s true I’ve always been protective of who I let into my home but for this apartment it’s particularly sensitive, and I asked myself Why?

As I went over it with T yesterday after I received the text, it hit me. We’ve been living here for 10 years. I have never, in my whole life, stayed at one place for so long. Due to my mother’s diagnoses we have always moved around quite a lot. Mostly we moved within my childhood city but a few times we adventured out into the great unknown and at most we stayed about a year in the same place. But often we headed to a new place much quicker then that. At 14 years old, I had moved 17 times in my life. 10 times within the city limit, 4 times outside the municipality and 2 times several hundred of kilometers away.

When I got my own place at 15 years old, I stayed there for less then a year. Then I moved much further south since I wanted to attend a specific private school and stayed in that city for about 8 months. Then I met my future husband and soon after I moved to “his” city as I had trouble with finding a place to live in the city where the school was located. But in that first, super small apartment I got in “his” city, we stayed for 6 years. Then we got this apartment, to which we moved a few months after we married, and here we still are.

If it hadn’t been for SJ (Swedish Railways) and the train commuting being such a hassle for him, we would probably never even thought about moving at all. That and the small lecture I got from my father two years ago really set things into motion. With less then 3 months away I can’t really decide what I feel. I’m both exited and saddened. I know very well how to pack and care for all those things, it’s leaving this safe haven I think I’m mostly afraid of.

T has said that he hope that this will be the last move we have to make, for like, ever. I smiled a little when he said it but you know what? I also hope that we will live there for the rest of our days. I have moved around enough to cover several lifetimes, I’m ready to settle down. There’s something about staying for so long at one place and I think I like it.

Another brick in the wall

That feeling of bottomless sadness have moved into the pit of my stomach. It has reached out it’s dark hand hand and taken my heart in a firm grip. And I hate it so much. This suffocating feeling of despair and hopelessness. The trendy people who, in interviews, claim that they never would want to live without their bipolarity must be insane on a whole other level. What I wouldn’t do to be rid of this crap I’m dragging around with me, to live my life without this crippling depression and anxiety, to be “normal”.

I’ve noticed it being on the rise the past few days but you never know which way it chooses to go so I usually don’t acknowledge it until the feeling is drowning me. But with my tears that can’t stop falling, I can no longer deny the fact that my mood isn’t slowly getting worse, it’s taking a nose dive. But to write, to cry, to spend time with my husband and listen to soothing music helps. It takes the sharpness of the situation and makes it softer, less likely to draw any blood or leave bruises.

One of my favourite, bipolar authors describes it ever so accurately:

“My anxiety does not belong to the chic existential cultural anxiety. My anxiety is certainly not becoming. It does not generate great poetry and fits badly with red wine and social contexts. My anxiety is down on all four and hits it’s head on the floor. Bang bang until the blood comes.” – Ann Heberlein

Note: Showing this side can make some worry about my well being, I know that. But this is a part of my life and it is what it is. I’m not suicidal, I’m thoroughly checked and medicated and have an active contact with my doctor and nurses. Should I feel that this is overpowering me, I will seek out professional help.

But as always, when you are living with a life long diagnose like this, it’s not about never falling, it’s about getting back up, knowing that it’s okay and that it will pass.

Something about blood and water..

Twice a month I go to the psychiatry department at the local hospital for my meetings with a special kind of nurse for conversational therapy (I have no idea what his profession is called in English, but he’s not a psychologist). This last session I had with the nurse, Anders, he told me that he’s going to retire in summer/autumn 2018. Now, his hair is grey and I’ve known he was closing in on retirement, but I never thought that I would still be with him once it was time. I took the news like I always do, passive but listening attentively. Once I was in the car on the way home I smiled a little at the fact that I was given the news a whole year in advance. But as it started to sink in I felt this sharp unwillingness and discomfort when I thought about getting to know another medical professional that would fill the same role as he have had for years now.

I really like Anders. He’s been with me since 2013, which in the grand scheme of things aren’t that long, but he was the first one I really opened up to and he’s been somewhat of a grandfather figure to me. I’ve told him most everything and he have supported me through some very big moments in my life such as my hysterectomy and learning to stand up to my mother.. and soon he’ll be gone from my life forever. I realize this is how it has to be, everyone ages and retires sooner or later, and he’s not really my grandfather.. but I don’t like it the least. I first smiled at how early I was presented with the news, but really it’s a very smart move. Through the years I’ve learned that I can handle almost anything as long as I’m given time to come to terms with it. Big life changes needs more time, smaller day to day things needs less time.

Right now though? I’m saddened, of course, but working with it as he himself once taught me. The sad feeling is something very selfish though, like all grieving processes are, soon he’ll be gone from my life but that doesn’t mean he’ll be gone. But I feel happiness for him too, he’s a great person with a big heart and I wish everyone could experience having such a person to turn to. He has taught me much but he deserves his golden years and I hope that it brings him everything he desires.. even if I’ll miss his terribly.