Do You Ever Feel...???

(Please note: I the following post I use the words, "crazy, insane, mad etc. loosely in describing only myself. I in no way intend, or even ever feel, that others having similar symptoms are anything but beautiful, though at times tragic), examples of the breadth of human experience). I'm just exhausted and weirded out and scared, and probably bitter and angry, about my own experience)

Do you ever feel like it doesn't really matter how you feel, because you are fucking insane, and everyone thinks you are crazy, so no one "really" listens anyways? And even if they did, the way you are would make absolutely no more sense to them than it does to you?

I feel like I am losing touch with reality. Yet, how can I be losing touch with reality if I know I am losing touch with reality? I am seeing more and more things around me, and inside me that are passing me some kind of meaning filled message/s...(though can't quite figure out the message/s...), that are making me feel like I am being sent messages, or things are showing themselves to me in order that I find some deep meaning in their presence.

(Eg., mood switching up after going to the front of the church and praying every night, mystical animals (crows) appearing when I need them to appear, pictures of wolves falling off my bookshelves, another wolf appearing on a torn out page of a children's book, right in front of me on the sidewalk, and then the terrifying wolves showing up in my nightmare, then the number 3: three pictures, the 3 nightmares, each nightmare made up of 3 parts)

Thing is, although my mind really does believe this "messages are being passed to me" idea pretty deeply...I can also see that maybe I'm crazier than I thought or something is happening whereby things just "happen", or "show up" at truly random times and places and for some reason my brain is seeing all these things as signs or patterns of meaning that I am MEANT to see??? God help me...

Since I got out of the hospital I have been severely depressed, almost more severely than when I went into the hospital...except last Wed evening my mood started to rise and I had a really great week. All week the rapid onslaught of negative and suicidal thoughts completely stopped, and I felt hope again. I felt like I was cared for, had tons more energy, felt talkative and social. I pretty much felt like I was on the mend. In fact, I felt sure I was becoming well.

...Until Sunday at 5pm.

You read that correctly.

Somewhere around 5pm on Sunday the voice inside my head returned with no warning and no reason behind it returning. {note: Although for the two nights prior, I had really two really bad nightmares, the likes of which I haven't had for a long time (and last night my wolf returned to me in another nightmare}

Just as I was entering the 5 rd bridge the voice/thought, (It has no sound...so it is not really a "voice", but it seems external), said to me:

"You have failed everyone. You have disappointed your dad so much, what a waste of life you are". And I started to cry.

Ever since then the voice has been going on and on about every bad thing I do, or mistake I make, how everyone really is sick of me, how I am not really loved by my boyfriend, how he is pulling away from me, how I have disappointed him and destroyed our relationship, etc.,

Then the voice switches to telling me how fucked up and wrong my thinking is, and how I am just imagining all this stuff and if I would just stop thinking it would all go away...but either way the voice goes on and on and on...maybe it is two voices?? I don't know anymore what is real, and what is my brain having crazy talk.

These thoughts/voices intensify and speed up or slow down. I believe they are magnified when my anxiety gets worse...as I have been having really bad anxiety/panic attacks. It may be though that the voices/thoughts are causing the anxiety as they begin to race faster and faster, and seem to be pushing me to change or die...whichever.

Either way there is an OCD like quality to them...including having a song I have recently listened to play relentlessly over and over and over in my head, as a torturous accompaniment to the thoughts that continue, and often race, faster and faster, harder and harder, over, and over and over, and over. Unstoppable. Unrelenting.

Sometimes I get so much "bad energy" inside me that the voice starts to speed up and it talks at me, over and over and over, at mach speed; incessant, punishing, shame inducing, and guilt producing. Often the voice has suicidal plots and plans, and reasons to die . Lately this is much much worse than any time I can remember before. It is like the thoughts are trying to push me.

If I wasn't crazy before...something inside me is aware I am crazier now. This is not right. I can see I am having strange thoughts...but my brain cannot seem to stop thinking (and while I am having them), believing these thoughts. Please, help me!!! Am I completely losing my mind?

It Hurts

I cried myself to sleep last night. This week has been like that. I feel overwhelmed by all the responsibility to get better, to help myself, and to move on in my life.

I feel like I think I try hard, but really I do not. I vegetate at home a lot. I stare at the wall half the day and wish I could change. That is getting me nowhere. This life is no life at all. It is hell.

Yesterday afternoon I had a short period of hope, that if I could manage to do all the things I enjoyed, or all the things I wanted to do, if I just did all the things that made me happy, I would become happy. Just the thinking about how to get myself, how to force myself, how to push myself to do, instead of just think about doing, exhausted and overwhelmed me. I feel useless, hopeless, helpless. Completely lost.

Last night I opened up the bag with all my hoarded medications. I want so badly to end this life. I wrote my sisters a note a few days ago. As I sat staring at all the medicine I tried to figure out how to exit and make sure my dog is okay. That, and the fact that I don't even have the energy to kill myself, is the only thing that stopped me. How sad...that besides my dog, my low energy and inability to do, is the only thing saving me.

Authority Figures

This is mostly a rant...with some relevance to my mental health:

I recently moved from a huge farm outside the city to a house in the city. As my husband and I have separated I needed to bring my dog with me. When I adopted my dog as a puppy last year I thought long and hard about the ease of accessibility to a place he could run. He is a boxer; a breed which requires a lot of exercise. The farm was a perfect place for him to run, and run and run in a safe environment...no cars, no people, no kids etc., just acres and acres of pure puppy joy.

I never expected my marriage to fail, and staying on the farm was always a longterm plan. Well of course that failed and here I am in a small home, in the city, surrounded by potentially dangerous dog situations: cars, lots of people everywhere, kids running up to the dog, all kinds of things to chase and a difficult environment for a young dog (1 year) to navigate without lots of structure, secure running areas and tons of training.

So I walk my dog 2-4 times a day on a leash; but he needs to run and play and get out some of his energy. So I tried taking him to the dog park. The last three times I did he was either hurt or became severely ill for days after the park with some kind of flu like illness. One of those times I had to take him to the emergency vet to rehydrate him. It cost $1000.oo; too much for my pocketbook.

I began taking him up to this big beautiful park by my place. There are tons of fields and two fenced in ball fields. I took him into the fenced area so he could run freely without getting hit by a car, or jumping up on some stranger, running towards and scaring some mother and child. He ran and ran, played, frolicked, jumped and I was able to do some great obedience training with him. That all ended Friday.

A city bylaw officer approached me in the field. He stood more than 6 feet tall, approached me with the swagger of an angry policeman and promptly told me I was in contravention of the animal bylaws and was to be charged $250.00 for having my dog off leash and $150.00 for having him in a city playing field.

Everything about the situation felt suddenly terrifying and traumatizing. I could feel intense fear, anger and a sense of being treated unjustly well up inside me. That awful feeling that I was going to cry sat in my chest, throat and on my lips overtook me. I felt that on top of all the fines and lecture and intimidation I was about to let him see how much he had hurt me. I felt sick.

He lectured me for about 10 minutes. All the while standing far too close to me and looming himself large over me. I felt like a bad kid. I felt like I did when my Dad was punishing me. I felt scared it would escalate; frightened and powerless.

Eventually he told me he would give me a warning this time, but as I walked away I began to sob. He scared the crap out of me. The fear of punishment, the belief that I would lose $400.00 from my already limited and over-run budget, the anger that I was trying to do the right thing and was to be punished for it anyways was too much. The bullying behaviour of the officer as he asked me why I was in the park and where I lived, and my inability to express my right to privacy, made me so angry at myself. As I walked away from him, head down, tail between my legs...I had a complete meltdown.

I Am Disappearing

My sister and nieces have just left. I feel tired and exhausted. I feel nothing. We went bowling this morning and I cheered, and yelled good job when my nieces were bowling. I went through all the motions of being a supportive and loving Aunt, but inside I felt nothing. No love, no excitement, no passion...I felt gone; somewhere else, like I had disappeared.

I can't explain. If you saw me with my family you would believe I was a great Aunt, all loving and kind. I am not, because it is all a facade. I am really an empty vessel. A body missing its soul. The material that is left behind when the spiritual dissipates into the wind.

I am disappearing more and more every day. I can "act" like I am something, and almost fake my way through my daily routine. I can act, that is, if I can find the energy to act. Otherwise I lay in bed unable to move, or do anything. I am so tired and sleep does nothing for me. I hate this life.

Discontinuing Valium - Cold Turkey

**Note: I am NOT condoning anyone go off Valium this way. From what I have read it can be dangerous, even life threatening, to do this if you are on a high dose of any of the benzodiazepines. (Although for the life of me I never could find out Why...If anyone knows I'd like to know too) Please work out a schedule with your pdoc if you want to stop any of your medications.

I am not exactly sure, but I think I am on my 8th or 9th day of no Valium. I tried to go off it by slowly lowering my dose, but as soon as I had any side effects I would take more Valium and eventually I ended up taking more than prescribed, just so I did not have to deal with the stress of stopping it. I don't know if I feel psychologically afraid, or if physiologically I was becoming more tolerant of higher doses. Probably both. I always seem to have this pattern after having been on Valium, or any other Benzodiazepine, for a while.

Valium definitely helps me in a number of ways, but it also makes me tired and (I think) apathetic. Dr. X and I have decided I slowly go off all my medications as he says it is not clear they are helping me. To some degree I agree. I am not sure if they help or not.

I still seem to have mood swings/unstable moods and much of the time I feel extremely depressed and anxious, sometimes I feel moderately depressed and anxious, sometimes I feel only depressed and sometimes only anxious and some of the time I feel hopeful. This is the best I have ever been in 7 years, so it is hard to say my medicine is NOT working. I think at best it is sort of, at times helping. Other times I think it is my changing life and therapy that has lifted me a bit. If it were the medication wouldn't I feel hopeful at least most or much of the time?

Anyways... I discontinued Valium cold turkey about 8 or 9 days ago. It has been both uplifting and brutal, but I simply could not manage to lower the dose slowly.

The uplifting part is that I seem to have an increase in energy and, at least part days I have had more energy. The brutal part has been and continues to be (maybe even worse now than the first few nights) the withdrawal side effects I have been experiencing:

Not sleeping. The first 4 days I did not sleep more than a couple hours, in increments of a few minutes here and there, each night. By Christmas Eve my mood was great...probably due to sleep deprivation. However, by 1:30 am that night, having gone to bed at 10:15 and finding myself at 1:30 am increasingly wired, twitching and clenching my teeth and more I broke down and decided I needed to take something to help me sleep. I took 50mgs of Trazadone and at least I slept part of the night. The next day I felt so much better, except for feeling like I was dazed. I have continued to take Trazadone as it is at least partially helping me sleep.

Twitching...my muscles are twitching and my hands shaking. The twitching seems to be getting worse and is really annoying. It is almost like the feeling of reflexes when someone taps your knee, except it is all over...in my hands, arms, legs, torso...very annoying.

Mouth movements are back with a vengeance. I began taking the Valium to stop these mouth movements that began shortly after I started taking Prozac. I was getting extremely stressed because I was worried it was tardive dyskenesia. The Valium really helped them slow down and mostly go away (at least I wasn't noticing them as much). Now they are back full force...My mouth is making weird semi-controllable movements. If I focus really hard I can stop them, but the second I stop focusing on stopping them they come back...the movements are things like sucking motions, pursing my lips tightly, my tongue is moving in my mouth to the point that it is sore in numerous places from rubbing up against and pushing on my teeth and my jaw is clenched so tightly (especially in the evenings) that I have been getting massive headaches from the tension in my jaw and neck muscles. I have had to take 600mgs of Advil a couple times a night to lessen my headaches.

Toes tapping/moving It is like they are beating to a different drummer than me. "Tap, Lift, Tap, Lift, Tap, Lift...quickly, then slowly, then quickly, then ploddingly. They do not seem to want to stop (at least when I am noticing them). I can stop them if I focus on stopping, but a few minutes/seconds later I notice I am doing it again.

Anxiety/Bad Energy: Tight chest/back/jaw. Difficulty getting to sleep because I feel like I can't breathe. More energy, but it feels bad, like agitated energy, feel overwhelmed by small things, or things that are even the least bit difficult for me.

Irritability: Noises are annoying. It feels like sensory overload if the music at home is too loud, or it isn't the music I want to hear, or the t.v. is too loud, or people are talking to much. It is almost like the auditory equivalent of bright, relentless sunshine in your eyes when you are not wearing a hat or sunglasses.

Increased eating: (not sure if this is a side effect, the holiday season, or if it is happening at times my mood is down), but I have gained more than 12 pounds in the last 3-4 weeks...and I can't seem to stop eating bad food.

Balance problems: Falling, tipping, slipping. It may be the weather conditions (snow and ice), but I feel completely off balance, even inside.

Memory problems: Not sure I can remember the bizarre things I have been doing, but I remember saying "huh" to myself numerous times a day...Let me think...

spending a lot of time staring at things I pull out to do and wondering why I have them in my hand or on the counter. (Eg: pull out vodka and juice to make a drink and I keep looking at them both unsure of what they are and unsure of what I am to do with them, or find myself in a room and not knowing why, or putting the juice in the microwave instead of the fridge etc...

forgetfulness/carelessness

Stuttering/word finding: I have a phrase or sentence in my head. I go to speak and different words come out. Sometimes it takes me 3-4 tries to get the right statement out. I have done this numerous times while speaking with my husband. The words that come out wrong are usually associated in some way (they rhyme or have something to do with the topic...eg./ topic is strawberries and the word "tomatoes" comes out instead ...both are fruits). The other example of this problem is pure stuttering...where I have to try numerous times for the entire word to come out of my mouth correctly. I can't remember exact examples, (despite meaning to each time it happens), but my husband is making fun of me when I do it, because it is happening regularly.

Depersonalization/dissociation...I am "disappearing" a lot.

Feeling Homeless

An Anonymous writer commented on my last post:

"You wrote "I want so badly to die." I'd like to challenge you by making an adjustment to that statement: "I want so badly to be loved and respected." It's what we all want."

This comment sounded like my pdoc talking...and you are sort of right.

In 2005 my Mom's Dr told her to have X-mas now because her end was near. Tomorrow is the 3rd anniversary of the last X-mas I had with my Mom. She died 5 days later.



The only place I ever called "home" was my Mom's house. It wasn't even my childhood home, because we moved all the time, and because when my Dad left us she had to move a couple more times. However, everywhere my Mom lived was "home" to me...it was her that made it so.

At my Mom's I could totally relax. I never had to ask if I could eat something, or make something, or do something. I always knew I could do what ever I wanted and I'd be loved and cared for and respected no matter what, no matter how I was feeling, no matter how depressed I was, no matter how little I was able to manage. She always loved me and told me so.

I guess in a way I am lucky. Some people may never have someone like that in their lives. As I was headed to my house and my husband, on the ferry from my sister's tonight I began thinking about love and home.

My little sister like to see me for short (very short) periods of time, but it becomes clear after a few days that she wants to be alone. My middle sister loves me, but she too wants me to go after a couple days, and her evil husband makes it so difficult to relax that I want to leave the second I get their. At both my sister's houses I feel like a "guest"; the need to ask if I can have something to eat, or make a coffee, or have a nap is made clear by the way they are. I never feel at home. I always feel I am on borrowed time.

At my Dad's it is even worse. Whereas when I used to stay at my Mom's I always assumed I could eat, drink, play with, watch, or do anything I wanted...it was home so all those were a given. At my Dad's I feel like I am a guest in a stranger's house. To the point that I feel the need to ask for a glass of water, rather than pour myself one.

I realized today that since my Mom passed away I have no one who loves me. I am desperately alone. I don't mean people who read my blog and care about me, I mean family, husband, or friends I see on a regular basis. I am so alone.

Even in my own house I feel on edge all the time because I am not a good wife, housekeeper, lover. I am criticized and made to feel bad about my abilities. I don't want sex, because I feel unloved, I cannot take care of my home, in part because I feel distanced from it.

I am, what I always feared I'd be: homeless, loveless, alone.

I watched the movie : "Into the Wild" last night, and I felt almost identical to the protagonist, except, even in an existential crisis, he knew where he was going. I feel lost.

On the ferry today it seemed like death is the easiest solution. I have tried and tried since before and after my Mom died to find my place in life. Maybe for some of us there is no place. Perhaps for some of us being alone is our destiny. I do not think I can live with that.

God, I miss my Mom so much it is unbearable. I miss her love, her non-judgemental and completely compassionate caring. The only place I feel is remotely similar is in my pdoc's office, but are 50 minutes a week of thoughtfulness and caring enough caring to sustain a person? I don't think so.

Graciously Accepting Compliments

Yesterday near the end of my session Dr. X looked at me and explained he wanted to say something to me, but he wanted me to accept the compliment, and not reject it, or become self effacing about it. He really wanted me to try hard to accept and embrace what he was about to say. At this point I became extremely self-conscious and worried about what he was about to say.

At this moment, as I write, I am going to practice accepting praise at face value AND being proud of myself:

He began to express how much he like my blog. Not just that he went on in detail about what he like about it. I don't even remember what it was he said about it, because I was listening and it all seemed surreal. It seemed unlikely that someone like him, someone so important to me, someone so intelligent and well read would see so much value in what I write. I wish I could remember what he said, because after he said it I was flabbergasted. Yet, at the same time could not help but doubt the sincerity of such profoundly kind and elaborate praise.

I tried REALLY hard to just ACCEPT what he was saying, but I couldn't help let slip, "Are you serious? Do you really mean that?". He looked at me with a slight look of consternation that told me I had slipped up and done exactly what I had promised not to do. I was supposed to accept what he said, be proud of myself, and if I wanted to, say thank you.

I still find it hard to believe that he meant what he said, despite deep in my heart recognizing that he is not one to lie, or make things up. I wanted so badly for him to enjoy my writing, and it feels so important to me that he be interested in what I have to say, that it feels impossible that he would actually feel that way.

I was thinking yesterday why I would have such a reaction to praise about something I do, and something that means so much to me. I love writing in my blog. I find it intensely cathartic and challenging to write about the issues I do.

All I can think is that maybe I was projecting my Dad onto him. I try to please my father, to make him proud of me, yet no matter what I do I feel I never please him, or live up to what he wants, or expects, me to be. I am always a disappointment. My being depressed, and off work makes me disappoint him even more. I am trying hard to let that go, but I find the dynamic clings to me.

I think, because my blog is so important to me, I believe it became a contender for incurring disappointment in someone who matters to me. That is why I took in the compliment with a huge amount of doubt about its sincerity. My immediate thought was that the compliment was a gesture to placate me, to retrain me, to make me feel better during a therapy session where I was feeling so badly about myself.

My Dad called last night and asked me how my dog training was going. I told him about our first trip to the off-leash dog park, and how the despite all my hard work training my puppy to learn the words, "Come", "Sit", Heel" etc., the second my puppy saw another dog he was off like a flash and I may as well been a stranger. He tugged madly on the leash when I did manage to leash him, even though on the farm he happily walks with a loose leash at my side.

My Dad sounded so indignant. What the hell are you doing letting him off the leash? What did I tell you? That is when you need to use the long lead. He needs to be on a leash." Those words don't look too bad as I write them, but it was the tone in which they were delivered that said..."You are a fucking idiot, you never get anything right, I don't know why I even bother"

It is no wonder I get so angry with myself. I have internalized my father's dismay in who I have become, and who I was my whole life. I swear at myself; internally scream at myself, to, " just fucking get it together. Fucking change you idiot. You are such a loser. You don't get anything right. You just aren't doing the right things. You aren't trying hard enough. If you were you be better and back at work. You are disgusting."

Dr. X. explained that it is very difficult to get rid of those negative voices in my head, but I can bring more positive voices in to counter the negativity.

During the phone call I should have been thinking:

...Dad is just trying to help me. He does not realize that criticism from him cuts me to the bone. As a policeman, he spent his whole life barking commands and ordering people around. He does not understand how deliver a message softly. That's not his fault. He is a product of his life, just like me.

I need to not take his help as rejection. I need to accept what he is saying at face value. He is only trying to help me be a better dog owner, and he has the knowledge to do that.

Wow, I have worked really hard to teach my puppy manners and commands. He is however, still a puppy, and he has just recently been off the farm and into other environments. He becomes over stimulated and distracted by all the new things. I made a mistake. I have never had my own puppy before so I did not know better. I should have had him on a long lead. I know that now and will be better prepared the next time we go out. Dad was only trying to help me.

I feel like I will never learn these lessons. It is so painful to make the same mistakes over and over again. I would like to graciously accept Dr. X's compliments and believe he meant what he said. I feel flattered and very pleased with myself for all the effort I put into writing the things I do in my blog. Dr. X. you helped me feel even better about something I love to do. Thank you.

Why Didn't I...

I slept most of the day yesterday. I just do not want to be here. I'm too tired and everything is too hard to do. I cancelled going to a drop in writing class today, because I just don't want to see anyone.

Yesterday, as I tried to sleep, my puppy would curl up beside me on the bed. The bad thoughts would come. I tried really hard to speak lovingly to my puppy, tell him how much I loved him, pet him, feel how soft and velvety his floppy ears feel, sense the warmness of him laying next to me. I tried every time the thoughts came to fill my mind with thoughts of love, and caring, but the thoughts both wouldn't go away, and then began to challenge me:

Why didn't you get your oldest niece to call 911? The police would have stopped the dog attack?

Why didn't you take a stick and poke the attacking dog/s in the eyes, or ears, or some other vulnerable place? That would have stopped the attack.

Why didn't you run up to the house and grab the axe? Why didn't you hit the attackers with the axe? That would have stopped the attack.

Honestly, even if I had the presence of mind to think of those things during the attack, I do not think I could have maimed or hurt the attackers. I didn't want the dogs hurt, I just wanted the attack to stop. I couldn't have killed, or maimed them, anymore than I could permanently harm a human. When I was hitting them, and throwing rocks at them I was trying to stun them, or distract them so they let go of the puppy.

Yet beyond the initial playback of the attack, over and over in my mind, is the feeling and playback of criticisms in my head that I did not do enough to protect and help the puppy; that as a caregiver I did not live up to my responsibilities to protect my sister's children and her dogs.

Some of it was my fear. The dogs were huge and powerful Husky/Akita/Wolf cross dogs weighing appox. 150 lbs each. Also, the fence where the attack was taking place was short...only 4 feet tall. The dogs were almost as tall. I was scared they would jump the fence and attack me, or grab me if I tried to go into their yard and haul them off the puppy. My first thought should have been to protect the ones in my care. I should have done more.

I think the thoughts keep coming, because in my life I never have been afraid of dogs. I always felt I would be in charge if a dog became vicious. I had been around large police dogs my whole life. There was a sense of complete panic and helplessness during the attack that I cannot get over. It has affected my sense that I have the ability to protect my puppy. I love him so much I feel terror that I might lose him because of a mistake I might make.

All Over the Map

I had my session with Dr. X. this a.m. It was one of those sessions where I felt like I had too many things to talk about so everything just gets touched but nothing gets filled out; like sharing an outline to a long essay, but the things that are really important are in the details of the essay. The outline outline just glances over the topics.

I wish I were more controlled, or focused in my sessions. I feel like sometimes I try to address to much and end up addressing nothing in depth. To mix my metaphors, it is like I tell Dr. X about all the all the leaves of a tree, when I should be focused on one branch, get that out of the way and move to the next branch. How do you do that when so many things impact your daily living? Fifty minutes feels like enough time to lay everything out, but not enough time to work through things.

I'm being really negative because I feel that way right now, but Dr. X and I did work on a few things that I hope I can get over.

1) One thing that we talked about, and I think will help me is troubles I have been having with intense "flashbacks", "reenactments" or "reliving" my sister's puppy being attacked last year. I will be holding my puppy, who, by the way, I have become intensely loving towards and bonded too. I hold him, and the whole dog attack scenario comes back to me.

I hear the awful "screaming" puppy sounds and the raging barking of her helpless dog companion. I feel like I'm in the mud with my soaked sock feet. I can smell the musty smell of mossy wood dirt and dog shit everywhere. I am on my knees and they are caked and soaked in that muddy stench.

I am holding the back end of the puppy, praying the huge dogs will let go of her neck and for an instant, stop pulling her through the wires of the fence. I hold her haunches and tug a bit, so if the dogs let go I can pull her quickly back through the fence. I feel terror in me that the dogs are going to rip her head of, right in front of me. I stop pulling, because that is all I see.

I pick up massive boulders, as heavy as I can lift, I've been fighting for almost 10 minutes right now, and the puppy is getting weak. I can see here being dragged farther and farther through the fence, but she is still fighting. I know, if she stop fighting, her muscles will relax and the giant
dogs will rip her through the hole in the fence.

I hear children screaming and turn to see my little nieces running towards the attack. I am intensely scared the large dogs will be triggered by the little children running and jump the 4
foot fence and chase the kids. I am also afraid the kids will be traumatized if they see what is happening to their small puppy. They are half way down the hill screaming at me, asking what is happening. I turn around and scream at them as loudly as I can: "get back in the house, lock the door and do not go near the windows. Do not open the door until I ask you to".

I know the patio doors are easily pushed open if not locked. I am afraid those big dogs will head towards the house and the children. My nieces are scared and crying, they run back to the house. I don't know what else to do. I have to save the dog, and protect the kids.

I lift the boulder above my head and I lob it as hard as I can at the male dog who is clamped down, biting on the scruff of the puppiy's neck and trying to drag her through the fence. The heavy boulder hits his skull, but he doesn't even flinch. The giant dogs are in a frenzy. I can't stop them from trying to kill the puppy. I have been hitting them over and over with boulders and giant sticks; trying to make them stop, much of the time I am down at the fence trying to stop this awful attack

I feel weak. My adrenaline is there, but it seems to be fighting against me now. I can't think anymore. I don't know what to do. I can't think of how else to help the puppy. I give up; collapsing on the ground. Suddenly, the owner of the big dogs comes around he corner and calls off her dogs.

The puppy collapses. Her blood is everywhere. She can't move and I am so exhausted. She weighs about 30-40 lbs. I pick her up and start running up the hill with her, towards the house. I collapse at the bottom of the stairs. She is too heavy for me. I am too tired. Even when she is out of the jaws of the dogs I feel helpless I am going to let her die.

I get a burst of energy and pick her up and bring her into the house. Blood is dripping everywhere. I don't know what to do. My nieces, 4 and 7, who I am babysitting, are screaming in horror. I don't want them to see all the blood. I want them to believe the puppy will be okay. I put the puppy in the mudroom and shut the door, call the vet, tell them I have an emergency, the vet was about to leave for the day, but her and her assistant wait for us to come. What do I do with the kids? How am I going to explain this to my sister?

I call my sister, who is skiing, I tell her what happened. Someone knocks at the door. It is the big dog's owner. She asks if I want her to stay with the kids. My sister says that is okay and that she will meet me in town at the vets.

I pick the puppy up. She is in extreme shock. She is still bleeding. For some reason I don't have the brains to wrap her neck in a towel, or try somehow to stop the bleeding. All I can think is get to the vet, get to the vet, get to the vet.

I only have my sister's brand new car. Oh God now what do I do? There will be blood everywhere. I throw an old blanket in the back seat and pray she will just lay there. The fucking cars on the highway are going so slow and every single light in town is red. The dog is going to die. I am not going to get it to the vet. It will die before I can get there. I am so scared.

I manage to get her to the vet. She is almost dead. I watch as the vet tries to stabilize her and I can't stop weeping and bawling, and shaking.I am so frightened. Within minutes my sister shows up.

I am so ashamed that I let this happen, that I wasn't able to stop the attack, that I didn't notice it happening for at least 2-3 minutes before I intervened. I heard the weird dog sounds in the yard, but I thought it was her and her brother playing, until I looked through the balcony doors and saw the neighbours dogs attacking her.

I hold my new puppy, who is the same breed of dog, but a bit smaller than my sister's puppy was then, and this whole scenario keeps playing and slipping into my mind. I am terrified something will happen to him, something I won't be able to stop, or save him from.

Dr. X. and I discussed this today. He said I may not be able to stop the thoughts, but maybe I can bring more welcome, or nicer thoughts into the times these thoughts start happening. Thoughts like how adorable the puppy is, how much I love him and care for him, etc. I am going to try to do that. It sounds like a reasonable and perhaps an easier way to stop the awful thoughts than trying to force them out of my mind.

2) Take vitamins. No potato chips and cocoa beans are not
vegetables. My food intake is really, really awful right now. Pepperoni and
cheese for dinner. Prepackaged food, kraft dinner, no veggies.

"I take too many pills", I protest.

"You need to take more", is his response. "I will get you some samples".

"but I have all the vitamins at home and don't take them".

"These ones are from me", he says.

I understand, things from him have magical qualities. I accept them and say thank you.

3) I tell Dr. X. I dread leaving the house. I dread going anywhere. Even my friend I saw yesterday, who I really like, until I actually saw her it seemed like so much effort to leave the house and do something. Once I saw her I enjoyed myself.

Dr. X: "Do you dread coming here?"

Me: (in my head thinking I look forward to coming here. In fact, I can't wait for my session most weeks. Often it seems like Thursday will never come soon enough), but I don't express exactly how important my sessions are to me, because that seems sick and twisted. Instead I say " "No, I don't dread coming here. I look forward to my sessions. You are the one person I feel really understands me".

I do feel like it is weird how much I value my sessions. Like there is something pathological in how attached I feel to Dr X. He is so important to me that I cannot even express it in words. On Thursdays I know that for 50 minutes I can be exactly who and how I am at any given moment and still feel respected and cared for. That's what it is. It's very close to the way I felt about being with my Mom when she was alive: accepted, cared for, valued, in spite of my all my problems

I Want my Mommy!

I need sleep...argh! I taught my second of 10 drawing classes today. This class has 13 students in it. That is a big drawing class. I hadn't slept most of the night, except (of course) right before I had to wake up. My not sleeping is making me brain-dead. The class was okay, but my word finding problems were much worse than they have been, and they have not been good.

I don't get it. I can think of the object, know what the object is, know exactly how to describe...EXCEPT I cannot remember the word for it. I feel like an idiot. Especially given my vocabulary is usually fairly vibrant and descriptive.

Anyways, I am tired and it is only 2:0pm. I have been tired since I woke up. Note to self: next term teach only one class. Two classes to teach is too much for me, especially with "the cutest puppy from hell" to take care of.

This morning before I left for class I was trying to stop the puppy from eating the cat litter (GROSS!), chasing him as he unravelled xmas ribbon all over the house. As soon as I grabbed the green ribbon he is off again and when I find him he is unravelling the silver ribbon. So I take that away, and find him back at the kitty litter...(BLECK!)

All the while I am trying to get ready to go to do my volunteering and I still have to walk him. So I walk him, come back in the house and begin brushing my teeth. There my puppy is walking proudly out of the bedroom dragging a huge swath of fabric from a box under the shelf.

I take that away from him and then he grabs some felt from a different box. Finally I place him in his crate for an hour so I can leave and my husband will come get him when he's done cutting flowers.

I get home from my class and in the hour he was in his crate he shredded his dog mattress and there is fluffy stuffing EVERYWHERE. He is so cute...but I am getting close to my breaking point. How will I manage another 2-3 years of chasing him around the house trying to stop him from eating everything he comes in contact with. I need to "puppify" my whole house and I can barely keep my house up as it is.

I knew puppies were work, but this? and it has only been a week. Help! I want my Mommy! She always seemed to know how to handle this stuff.

Kicking and Fighting

I have never been one to accept that I have limitations. I think part of that has been helpful in my struggle with Major Depressive Disorder and it's partner "Anxiety". However, I also understand that fighting against my depression and anxiety; not accepting I have an illness, has hindered my becoming well.

Some of you may think; "what the hell, she talks about it in her profile and in all her posts. How can she possibly suggest she does not "accept" her illness. It is strange.

I can say it: "I have a mental illness. I am depressed and anxious. My life has changed dramatically because of these"

I can comprehend it: "Some people have a combination of psychological, physiological (AKA biological) and genetic factors that may predisposition them towards having a mental illness.

I can see how I may have been affected by all three: "I have numerous people in my family with depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder, I was a child who was predisposed to worry about everything from a very young age. I had numerous incidents while growing up that very negatively affected my mental well being."

I can see I need help: For years, off and on I have sought help via therapy. For the past 6.5 years I have received weekly therapy and been willing to try every medication on the planet to try to make myself feel better. I know something is not right. I know I have had times in my life where I feel like a completely different person.

The trouble is I kick and fight all the way. I cannot shake the feeling that this is all my fault; that had I lived my life differently, or made better choices I would not be in this predicament; that somehow I am different from all the other people I know who have mental illnesses. I can understand their illness is not their fault. I can see there is an outside force "making" them have their difficulties. I cannot accept the same for me.

I often wonder if the medications and the therapy don't work, because I am not depressed. I am not mentally ill. I am simply stubborn and lost. I hate who I am, and I feel like I made myself this way.

For instance, my fatigue: Every time I talk with my sister about it she says, "I find that the more I do, the more energy I have". She tries to get me to do more to feel less tired, but I cannot bring myself to do more. This feels like a personal flaw; if I really wanted to get better I would swim, and exercise, and clean the house, and make dinner, and have a shower, and do all the things that a healthy person does.

If I really wanted to get better I would take that 6 grams of salmon oil religiously everyday. I would take a multivitamin and B-Complex vitamin everyday like my pdoc suggests. Who cares if it means I have to take 8 more pills on top of the 10 other pills I already take throughout the day. Who cares if I keep forgetting. If I really wanted to get well I would find a way to remember.

If I could accept I had a mental illness; not just say it, or understand what that is, but really accept that some of what goes on in my head and with my body is out of my control I think I might begin to let go and to get better.

If I could stop fighting against the suicidal ideation, the self loathing, the anxiety, the intense fatigue, the amotivation, the absolute terror and fear of being left alone, or being embarrassed, or being rejected; if I could accept these are symptoms I cannot control, I might be able to relax and stop trying so hard to get rid of them. Ironically this might be the path to them leaving me.

I need to find it within myself to ACCEPT I can do what I can and I can try to do things. I can hang on, and survive, but I cannot CONTROL all my symptoms. I need to learn that have an illness where what you can and cannot control is ambiguous. I need to believe that I am trying as hard as I can to get better, and that is all anyone wants me to do.

Stream of Consciousness

Jazz over at "In Pieces" has a great blog where she provides us with a writing prompt each day. Today I was stuck for something to say and her prompt sounds like an interesting exercise:

"Writing Prompt: Set aside twenty minutes or so and do a brain dump. Just write whatever is on your mind no matter how mundane or boring. Even if you have nothing to say, write that. The trick is to just keep your hand moving the pen across the page for twenty minutes. When you have finished, sit in silence for a few moments and ask yourself how you feel. Do you feel more collected? Less scattered? Consider whether or not a morning brain-dump might be a helpful thing to add to your arsenal of wellness tools."

Here goes:

I am really worried about Dr. X. His office called to say he was away sick this week. He is never away, for any reason. He hasn't seemed well the past couple weeks, in fact the past couple months he's seemed a bit distracted. Now I am really worried. Worried he is sick like my Mom was sick. What if he were. I couldn't bear to lose him. How would I deal with that? I know my mind is taking me down that negative road, and for all I know he could just have the flu, but it seems like he has been worried about something lately. I even brought up my attachment to him, and how much he means to me in our sessions a couple times, because I felt something was wrong.

My mood is dropping again. Part of it is that worry about Dr. X and his well being, and part of it is the letter from my insurance company. I now feel like I am being watched (once again). At the bottom of the request for detailed minitue (sp?) of my day and any work or volunteer work I do they are making me sign the form saying I understand all my statements will be investigated and that they will contact the people I volunteer for etc. They don't get it. The more they put the fear of being spied on into me, the more I believe i am being watched, and the more I am afraid to do anything that might indicate to the non-psychiatrist eye that I am well and ready to return to work.

I am one of those people who is able to put a face on when I have to, so the studio I volunteer at, and even when i was working, my workmates and bosses, never had any idea I was sick. I can hide behind a type of false boisterousness for short periods of time, but the price I pay is exhaustion and an intense need to be alone. I believe I am working really hard at getting well, but I know I am no where near well. I need more "safe" time more time to slowly build my stamina. 5-6 hours a week volunteering in a supportive environment, where I can call in sick anytime I need to, where I have complete backup, in no way resembles a fast paced and highly stressful workplace where I am in fear of losing my job all the time.

Last week I wanted to commit suicide so badly. It isn't even that I feel as bad as I did before. I just feel like I will never get WELL...the capitals are intentional and represent the well that is me when I feel empowered, completely not depressed, powerful and excited about life, social and extremely outgoing.

All I want now, even though I feel better than I did, is to hide away at home, not answer the door, keep the curtains closed (so no one can watch me).. I have the means and opportunity to commit suicide. Last week I didn't because all my nieces have birthdays in these two/three weeks. I do not in any way want my death associated with such joyous occasions. I just want to go, and i feel like the time is getting closer and closer.

I wish my family could understand that my going would be a blessing. My pain would end. I do not know if they understand how painful it is to feel depressed all the time. Even I did not "get" what depression really could become until these last 6-7 years. Before I was depressed, but nothing I went through came even close to the length and intensity of this major depressive episode.

I have to teach today. I feel stressed out and angry that i have made that commitment. All I want to do is crawl into bed and stay there. Hide form the world, hide from myself, avoid life...this in itself is a "little death". Maybe if I do this long enough I will disappear.

20 minutes is harder than I thought. I don't know if any of you get what I mean when I see death as an intense relief. I think anyone who has not been depressed has a difficult time getting it. Even my pdoc. I think he gets it on an intellectual level, but I think he believes the desire to die will end with the relief of symptoms. I don't think that is true for me, because for me...I KNOW the symptoms will return, They never go away for ever, and every time they return they are worse. What kind of existence is that. I wish we were allowed to be put to sleep. My biggest fear is surviving suicide. I am so afraid I will miscalculate my plan and end up both severely depressed and lose my brain, or be completely physically trapped in a body that won't work. I would choose euthanasia if it were available.

I still have one more minute. I guess there is an upside to my depression. I met my pdoc and he has enhanced the life I have. I also met lots of people online who have also enhanced my life. I am grateful for that. Thanks for listening.
(20 minutes are up)

I feel exhausted. This might not be a good idea for me when depressed. It was why I stopped writing in my journals...I became too negative and focused on my depression. When well I can see how it might help me get ideas out on paper. Thanks Jazz for the idea.

I Just Want The Old Me Back

I have been so frustrated, despite my recent mood lift. You would think I would be happy that my mood has been consistently better for much of each day, but that is not the case.

As my mood remains better, my expectations of myself increase. I feel I should be able to do what I did when I was well; things like work, and read, and remember things, and not have difficulty doing simple tasks. I feel I should be fully functioning, now that I have felt better for a while, but that is not the case either.

I still cannot read. I used to be one to have 5-6 books on the go at any given time. I could leave a book for months and pick up where I left off, remembering the plot, characters and themes from what I had read previously. This seemed like a simple, everyday thing to me.

Now I pick up a book, read a chapter, and sometimes, even while reading that chapter get confused, because I cannot remember who is who, or what is going on. I often read and re-read the same paragraph or pages over again because I get lost and cannot figure out where I got off track.

If I read a chapter and put the book down for a couple days and then pick it up again I cannot remember what happened in the previous chapter/chapters, so I become disheartened and feel stupid and lose the desire to keep trying the book.

It is not just reading. I watch a movie, and a week later I cannot remember the most of the plot line. I remember I liked it, or hated it, but cannot remember what it was about. I have been taking blues guitar lessons. Years ago I played the guitar and all through grade school and high school I was a percussionist. I understand (or thought I did) rhythms. The first guitar lesson I got home to practice and I could not remember the simple blues shuffle pattern. I went to the next class and we practiced all class and then came home and again I could not remember the simple pattern. The third lesson I recorded it. True to form I came home and could not remember the pattern, but this time I had a reminder to help me.

I feel so stupid, when before I felt like I was very intelligent. It is like I have lost big chunks of memory, or ability to store memories, or ability to learn new things. I always thought when my mood lifted these would all come back to me.

Dr. X. and I discussed this today. He said part of the difficulties may be made worse by the way I am placing negative labels on what is happening. The more negatively I see myself, the more I live up to my own expectations (those are my words, not his...he was much more eloquent). For example, by calling these things "simple", and then seeing myself unable to do them, I become frustrated that I cannot do "simple" things.

He said the rehabilitation process can take a while and, like someone being rehabilitated to walk again, it can be very frustrating to not just be able to walk like you did before. I guess I thought when my mood was better I would magically become my old self; the self that never really had to try very hard to succeed at anything I tried.

Suicide Dreams

I had a dream last night that I was going away and needed to take a plane. I needed my birth certificate to get on the plane. As I was packing to go I could not find it, and then I finally found it in my shirt pocket.

I went to the airport and each gate was accessed via a flight of stairs. I had to get to gate I5. I started to climb, but lost my birth certificate over and over again. Each time I found it again.

Suddenly I realized that the letters and numbers in the stairwell that was headed towards the airplane gates were not going anywhere in the direction of I5 and I was at the wrong terminal.

I started running down the stairs and I found my little sisters birth certificate in the corner of one of the stairwell's landings, but all it said was her name....no date of birth, place of birth, no other information at all. I felt confused and sad.

I had 15 minutes to board the plane as I arrived at the shuttle service station, but the driver said he would only take families with a mom, a dad and two kids, so I had no way to get to the other terminal. Besides, I suddenly realized I lost my birth certificate again. I knew I would never catch that plane.

Meanings:???

I have been increasingly suicidal. My sister phoned my husband two days ago and said she was really upset and worried about me and would never get over me killing myself. That when Mom was alive she called her everyday, just to chat and since Mom died I have taken over that role and she feels I am the only person she can talk to openly.

• My losing my birth certificate is signifying I do not exist, I am gone, dead, or I never existed.
• my finding my sister's birth certificate with no birth date is saying, given, in her eyes, I have become a surrogate for Mom, she would not exist without me. (figuratively of course), thus she has no birth date/place etc..
• The driver saying he would take only a family of four would be my Mom, my Dad and my two sisters...I'm not there.
• or...there is no way for me to be there, both because my parents divorced, so we were not a mom/dad family, but also because my Mom is dead...so getting a ride is an impossibility.
• Last week in my session I told Dr. X. I was the one person on a plane that was not afraid of crashing. In fact I prayed for my planes to crash. The fact that I would miss the plane in my dream was another missed opportunity to leave this world.
• All the lost identification could be the literal representation of the loss of identity that I feel during this, and all my depressive episodes...maybe even when I am well. I never have a sense of knowing my self. I always feel disconnected from my self.

Just when you think you are headed in the right direction

I do not even know where to begin. A few months ago I took a big leap and began volunteering at an art Clubhouse for people with severe and persistent mental illnesses. I have been a member there for a few years and have taken classes, but then an assistant instructor position came up for a class so I decided, despite STILL being severely depressed, to apply.

The application process was stressful. I needed a resume and had to go in for an interview, but it was also good , because I now have a resume. I got the position and am in the middle of co-teaching my second class. Since then I have begun helping in another class and, because it is a member run studio, attending instructors meeting and studio monthly meetings.
Last Sunday I began volunteering for my city's Shakespeare festival too.

Now, for the last four or 5 weeks I have been so depressed I feel like I'm hanging on by an itsy, bitsy thread. I feel like commiting suicide everyday. I am so overwhelmed with everything I have commited to. On top of that my Grandma passed away a few weeks ago and my dog (who was my mom's until my mom passed away 1.5 yrs ago) is really sick with cancer (lung cancer and 3 other types of tumours...one of which became so large it broke open and every day 2-3 time a day I need to disinfect, medicate and wrap the tumour...I think I feel even more sad because he remind me of my Mom so much...I AM SO STRESSED AND DEPRESSED.

I started all the volunteer work because my pdoc and I had been in long discussions about my creating a community for myself, somewhere where I felt I belonged. The studio is just that place for me. I have met so many amazing people and the studio is open with materials and space to do your own art (Drawing, painting, pottery...tons of things) and I love the creative aspect of it. Also. the staff (Occupational Therapists, treat us like we are one of them. They have given me so many opportunities outside the teaching...attending different workshops etc.

The problem: I feel so overwhelmed and depressed that I can barely get out of bed. When I do for my volunteering I immediately come home and go back to bed. I have an exceedingly difficult time, if not impossible time cooking. I cannot seem to get motivated to clean the house, wash my hair, get dressed, or do anything that requires any effort. I feel sick I am so fatigued.

Several times in the last 4-5 pdoc sessions my pdoc has talked with me about entering the hospital for ECT (electroconvulsive therapy). I have had it before, so I am not afraid of it, but I am loathe to let down anyone I have made a commitment to. I am afraid the community I have worked so hard to build will think I am unreliable if I go in and say I cannot keep this up.

This is like my two year attempt to leave work to save myself all over again. What is it about me that makes me put everyone else's need above my own?

Basically I have decided to try to get through the summer and go in for ECT in September. I'm not sure how I'm going to keep going until then. WHY CAN"T I FIND A MEDICINE THAT HELPS ME. Why can't my depression just leave me alone. It is and has destroyed my fucking life....I feel so angry about that.