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?

"How Are You"? "I'm Okay."

I haven't really written for a long while. and for days now I have been wanting to write about this...and then in my last post I saw the last commenter comment about a similar dynamic when people ask how you are. So I am going to let it out...

It makes me crazy'(er) that I can never be me with anyone. When my sisters or stepmom, or dad call they sometimes ask how am. Sometimes they avoid the topic altogether. My usual response is either, "I'm okay", or "I'm not feeling so great". If I say the latter the topic changes so fast to something else that it is obvious the question was just a polite conversation opener.

My sisters and family are good, loving people...It must be the chronicity of my illness, the awful person it makes me become, and the neediness of myself that has them pull away from me so much.

A couple times I have tried to express how I need help because x, y, z is happening; i.e. I have been honest about how depressed I feel. The topic changes, or the person tries to get off the phone as fast as possible...and the stops calling or e-mailing completely to protect themselves.

What I most often want to write when they ask how I am , and I am unwell, is: " I am feeling really scared and depressed. I cannot stop thinking about suicide. The noise in my head, telling me to kill myself, telling why it is the best thing, planning how to do it, etc., won't stop. I feel like nobody loves "me".

They love the "me" who laughs and is funny and upbeat...that is part of me, but often that part of me comes out when I am trying to help others feel okay around me, or if I am trying to not act as crazy as I feel. When I want to be cared for, or loved, I try really hard to suppress, or minimize all the things about me that others either cannot handle, or understand, or will take as proof that for their well-being, they should get me out of their lives...NOW.

I understand why this happens. It would be hard to have a sister/daughter like me. I understand, but it hurts me so much that my family doesn't try to help me, or somehow let me know I can call them if I need help. I feel so intensely alone.

Even with my pdoc I am afraid if I tell him what I really feel he will think I am overstating, or that I am crazier than I am. I often leave his office thinking God I must drive him crazy. I try to be/say/express less suicidal thoughts/ideas/plans than I really have, or am, or really feel. I tell him I have the thoughts, but I don't think I have been able to express their relentlessness inside my brain; the way, over, and over and over, and over, the thoughts speed through my head, telling me to:

"...wrap a rope around my neck, wrap a rope around my neck, do it, do it, do it, do it do it...shoot yourself, kill yourself, hire someone to kill you, no one loves you, you are alone, completely alone, lonely, this depression just keeps getting worse, and the worse it gets the more people move away from you..."

"...your family doesn't want you anymore, they only want you when you are okay, they don't want to hear about how you need help, they want you to just go away. So my brain says to me, over and over, "...do it, do it, do it, hang yourself, wrap a rope around your neck, etc., etc." All the while, that Violent Femmes Song, "Why Can't I Get Just One Kiss?" is playing rapidly. obssessively, over and over inside my brain...like I can't get away from the song, or the thoughts.

I can't tell anyone these things. I even don't want to write them here, because all I want is to get them out of my head. I am venting; trying to help myself find some relief.

So I answer, "fine, been feeling a bit down, but that's okay"...WTF!!! "...that's okay"?."...a bit down"???? This will never end...end it.

Raging Depression

I feel so messed up right now I feel like I cannot even write. I was about to delete my blog, when I read the last comment, by Chris, on my last post. One of the big reasons I wanted to write this blog in the first place was to reach out to people who are struggling with mental illness, and in particular, depression.

I do not know what is happenening to me, but I am not doing well. I have been going for ECT weekly, but nothing good is coming of it. The past week and a half, (maybe more), all I have felt is RAGE. I feel so angry inside I feel like I am going to blow up; explode! There is so much bad energy in me right now. I do not understand what is happening to me. I am both scared and I have had it. I can't take life anymore.

When I went for ECT on Monday, I tried to express that I wasn't doing well, and the Dr./nurses asked me if I had changed my medicine. I stopped taking the high dose of dexedrine because I am wondering if it is making me crazy. They didn't even listen to me...and scoffed at my complaints about anger/rage...saying I was feeling that because of medication withdrawal.

If they had listened to me they would have understood that I had been feeling enraged for days/week before I decided to stop the amphetimines. I stopped them BECAUSE I was feeling bad...I didn't feel bad because I stopped them. I'm still angry, irritated, flustered, frustrated, cranky, and so depressed I don't know how to keep trying. I want to go...

My Heart Feels Broken...

...in so many ways.

I feel so desperately and severely depressed today. I could feel the depression returning on Monday, despite having ECT Monday morning. I felt cranky, and irritable, frustrated, flustered and I found myself swearing like a sailor all day. My memory is so brutally bad. I am forgetting things, mixing things up, times up, schedules up, losing things, confused about important things and basically feel mixed-up and lost. I feel like my hope has disappeared.

All day, all I wanted was to die. Please god let me go. I cannot take this anymore. I thought ECT was helping me heal...but I think my last commenter may be closer to the truth...it may have been the support and friendly gestures from other patients that helped me feel better. For various reasons...my external supports are very low right now.


I wanted so badly to call one of my family members for help today because I cannot stop dreaming, wishing, hoping I will die. Problem is...I just finished telling my family how much better I felt, and all of them are thrilled. My Dad, who never asks me how I am, or lets me know he's on my side, has been phoning me to see that I`m well. He told me he was so happy to hear I was better the other day. He said he thought I would never be well. My stepmom said she didn`t think I would survive this depression much longer...She is right. How do I call and ask for support, when everyone wants so badly for me to be well? How can I let everyone down again? I can't.

On top of all this my dog has been really sick. I don`t really know what happened, but while I was in the hospital, he was at my sister's. At some point my sister said he beat her dog up, and wouldn't stop. This sounds exactly "UNLIKE" my dog. I have never seen him bite another dog, ever! He is usually the friendliest and gentlest dog in any group. I hope this misbehaviour was a one off type of behaviour. It scares me that he behaved that way.

I feel awful that he behaved like that...but the vet that looked at him at the time did nothing for him...saying he was okay and now he is very, very sick....and covered in many, many, many puncture/bite marks many of which had become infected. The other day he got a fever, and twice could not lift himself into my car's back seat. When I lifted him in, he stood up briefly and then collapsed onto his side. I raced to the nearest vet and he was hospitalized; where he was rehydrated with intravenous liquids and given blood tests, and antibiotics, and 2 days and almost $800.00 later he was sent home with me, where many of his bites continue to be, or become, infected.

Then there is my relationship. I know...with all my problems...it has probably been hard for my boyfriend, but I try really hard to be there for him too. I think my being sick is too much for him. I woke the night before last night at 5am...and he was gone...no note, no phone call. Yesterday he said he told me, but my memory is so bad...I do not remember at all.

He e-mailed me the next day and said he got really anxious and just needed to get outside and walk, and walk, and walk. I asked him if we were okay, and he says yes...but I sense I am being dumped and he's trying to be nice about it.

I hate weird games, and excuses...they only work to make me imagine the worst, and imagine the worst is my fault...like I'm too crazy for him, too depressed, too broken. If it really was anxiety, just talk with me about it...we talk about that kind of stuff all the time. We were fine until I actually let him know how depressed I really am and he saw how sad I was. I guess on some level I have been dishonest with him about how I am.

I did tell him I was severely depressed for a long time, but people are confused by me, because when I am with people I work hard to put on a face, to interact, to make an effort. Often when other people are around me it helps my mood lift briefly. Anyways, my heart feels broken. I really love my boyfriend. I want so badly for this to work out, but I sense he has had enough.

I hurt so much right now. I feel back where I started before the hospital, only worse. There is something worse about having felt well for such a brief period, only for it to slip away so rapidly. I feel even more hopeless now than I did before I tried all the ECT, and the hospital.

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.

Caged

(Thoughts like this post are partly why I stopped writing for a while...yeah I didn't have the internet at home, but I also couldn't find the energy to make the effort to get outside my home and make my way to the library only a few short blocks from my house, to rant about my depression, anger and inability to get well. I don't know if my continued diatribe about my depression is helpful to anyone, myself included.)

I'm cranky, irritable and at times am feeling a rage swelling inside me. The anger is mostly focused at myself and my inability to manage to help myself get better...either by somehow influencing a/any medicine to work, and by doing the things I keep being told to do in order to get well...for example:

• eat well,
• get some decent, cardio exercise...other than dragging my sorry slow ass for a painfully slow walk with the dog...(painful for me, because even slow seems completely exhausting...and painful for the dog because all he wants to do is run.)
• sit under my lightbox
• challenge my thoughts
• read
• get my sleep schedule/wake schedule the same everyday
• don't eat sugar, so many carbs, eat more veggies
• take my vitamins

...yadda, yadda, yadda.

I feel like screaming I am so angry with myself for not being able to, or willing to, or trying to, or whatever the hell it is...do something to save myself.

I feel enraged also, by all the "helpful" ideas in psychiatry/psychology that seem to presuppose some magic energy resource or will, or that the ability to motivate oneself exists in me, and people like me.

Maybe it's true...like I think sometimes...that I am the only one who fails to get better, 0ver and over and over again Otherwise, why do people always tell me to do things that I can't seem to do because I'm to exhausted/amotivated to do them....because I have an illness that exhausts, overwhelms, and robs me of all your desire, ability, and motivation to actually DO SOMETHING to help myself.

If others with this illness have these same difficulties why the hell do doctors and therapists and studies, and papers and books and friends and family keep telling me to do all the things I feel unable to do?

Am I crazy, 0r does this sound as crazy as a hockey coach screaming at a tiny kid; who knows how to walk and run pretty well, but who has never been on the ice, or in skates, to speed skate, intuitively know how to handle the puck and get a goal when they aren't even able to skate yet; or like a doctor telling a person with no legs to just walk around the block a few times a day and they will feel better; or like telling Cinderella to go find a prince to marry when she is so busy trying to clean up after, and appease her evil siblings' and stepmother's demands, and to even just protect herself, that she doesn't even know a world outside her abusive existence exists.

SURPRISE! I am really depressed right now. I feel overwhelmed with life, and once again underwhelmed by my depression treatment plan. I am pretty sure that even if something helps it will only help a bit, or for a while, or it, like everything else I've tried will simply stop working. I am pretty sure I have lost my old life; my old me.

It's not acceptance I am feeling...but an internal rage at losing what I valued so much...my joie de vive, my adventurousness, my wildness, my positive outlook (yes, I did say that...I used to have a pretty bubbly positive outlook about the awesomeness of life)...and my lust for life.

I do not want to live if it means living without those things. I don't want to continue taking medication, continue psychiatric treatment, continue existing, if it means I have to accept the dullness, ineptness, anxiousness, sadness, fatigue, blah, blah, blah my life has become.

My Mom used to tell me I would get better when I accepted I had an illness. I think I accept I have an illness. I just don't want it anymore and I feel completely helpless, and hopeless, that I will ever be able to stop my symptoms.

...it was intensely difficult to write the word "helpless" in that last paragraph. I feel like I have fought so hard to try to help myself, but nothing ever works, nothing I do ever changes how I feel for any length of time...Maybe it's time to give up trying. It is this intense feeling of helplessness that enrages me. I feel like a caged wild animal. Caging an animal just isn't right. Wildness tamed is just a captive. No thing, no being, wants to live as a captive.

What if Nothing Ever Works? Is Life Worth Living?

This post is just another blah, blah, blah about how desperate I feel. Please do not read if you are annoyed by me and my morose being, or if you are triggered by dark thoughts.

I am not writing this to reach out, or to help anyone. I am writing this because the urges and images inside me are overwhelming me. I need to get all these bad thoughts out of my head...I guess in a sick way my writing like this is a coping strategy.

Given my decision to write this blog, not just for myself, but for others to read, I often find myself afraid to write what I really feel. I try really hard to be genuine and honest, but sometimes I feel my unrelenting, chronic illness, its symptoms, my thoughts and behaviour might annoy, overwhelm, trigger, or burden other people.

This feeling of overwhelming and burdening others happens in my "real" life too. I feel if I share the truth, speak the truth, open up completely to my family and friends it places a heavy load on their shoulders. What the hell are they supposed to do with the information? It feels selfish to share such detailed and frightening imagery and information with them. So I keep the heaviest part of my load inside me, and then days like today happen and I feel like the load will tip me over and flatten me.

I have been sitting here on the verge of tears for the past few hours. At one point I called my Dad, ostensibly about something he might be able to help me with, but really I wanted to scream..."help me". Reason took over. My Dad doesn't even think I need help...definitely not the person to reach out to.

When my Stepmon asked me how I was, I so desperately wanted to reach out for help. I heard my voice quiver. About to break into tears I managed to squeak out, "fine". She did not notice and took my "fine" at face value.

I am not fine. My suicidal thoughts are so strong right now. I was in the gas station today, staring at the packages of rope. My brain kept saying buy it, buy it, buy it...do it, do it, do it. I managed to move away from the rope, only to be drawn to it again...three or four times. I left the gas station with no rope, but not without an intense desire to die.

How do people survive chronic MDD. As the years go by with nothing able to help me for any length of time Iam losing my resolve, my will to fight, my desire to live. I cannot see how it is possible to keep trying when I still feel so much severe depressive pain, isolation, fatigue, attention difficulties, memory loss and amotivation...these things have completely destroyed me.

I had lots of friends, went to school, worked hard, , both physically and socially. I did everything you are supposed to do to have a happy life.

I am not the person I see inside me now. I have become some monster. I have become the epitome of hell. I have become an empty vessel, an inanimate being, the living dead.

I am a zombie; dead inside, but walking directionless, searching and praying for a way to make the death destroy my shell as well. Why did this happen to me. I always tried so hard to be alive, vivacious and passionate about my life, and other people's lives.

Now, everywhere I look I find myself searching for a way out of this life. I see an car accident taking me away, a truck running me over, a rope hanging me in a tree, a dog leash and choke chain slipped around my neck and over the bathroom door, a leap from the Alex Fraser Bridge, a fall in front of the train, ...a note pasted on my door...someone help my dog.

What's Wrong?

I adore and love my boyfriend "I". He is one of the most interesting, funniest, warmest, sweetest and sexiest men I have ever known. I am at a loss in one area though. I feel really confused when the topic of my mood disorder comes up. It is as though he is in complete denial that I am depressed.

He "knows" I am depressed. We met at an art clubhouse for people with severe and persistent mental illnesses. That is one of the criteria for joining this particular art program. We both have mental illnesses. We have talked about how important it is for us to support and care for each other both when we are well and when we are ill.

"I"'s perspective on mental illness has been extremely complicated by his father committing suicide when he was a child. It becomes even more complex when you learn his father was a psychiatrist.

This is how the conversation that confounds me goes:

I: How are you.
Me: I am not feeling well.
I: Why not?
Me: I am depressed.
I: What are you depressed about?
Me: I don't know. No reason. I just feel intensely depressed. It never seems to be about anything. It just comes upon me for no reason.

This conversation may seem innocuous, but the fact that I have to tell him I am depressed, and that he wonders why I am not feeling well, and what I am depressed about...over and over and over...makes me feel really misunderstood.

I have tried to explain my symptoms to him; my suicidal ideation, my severely low mood, the fatigue, the amotivation, the anxiety etc. He sees me cry, and unable to clean, or cook, or do much of anything, but he keeps telling me I am not depressed and/or asking me why I am depressed. Having all these symptoms is depressing. How can he not understand that.

I have to admit that I hold back when I tell him how depressed I am. He is still traumatized by his Dad's suicide. I do not want to trigger him by talking openly about my suicidal ideation; especially because I ideate about hanging myself over and over throughout the day, everyday. His father hung himself.

While I do not relay the vivid details, I do express that I am desperate, that I want to go in for ECT, and that I cannot manage this illness much longer. He sees that I see Dr. X each week. For some reason he thinks I do not need to see a psychiatrist. He says I am not sick.

I think he sees me as being funny, supportive, loving and functioning maybe on a level above many who have the same symptoms I do. Maybe what he sees and experiences does not match what I feel, or what I tell him I feel. Maybe his experience of his own depression is different. Maybe this suggests to him I am not as depressed as I think I am.

He is so wrong. I am so depressed I feel like I might not survive if something doesn't change very soon.

What's wrong?

• I have to take so much medicine, just to still feel this bad...a Mood Stabilizer,an antidepressant, sleep medication(another antidepressant), thyroid medication, and a stimulant)
• I cannot stay out of bed I am so exhausted.
• I can't eat properly both because I cannot walk, or drive three blocks to the grocery store to buy decent, healthy food, and because I have enough energy and motivation to eat Cheetos and cereal...that's it.
• I feel sick inside all the time...physically sick, like I can barely move, am nauseous and I feel blah.
• I want to crawl into a fetal position and pray my life will end
• I see ways to kill myself everywhere I go: a car crash, pills, a bus running me over, being hit by a car as I cross the street, falling from a bridge, drowning in the ocean etc...
• I feel dissociated much of the time; detached, depersonalized.
• I feel desperately isolated, alone, lonely. I feel so alone through this. It is impossible for anyone to understand what this feels like. There is no one who understands the level of depression I feel.

I want to kill myself, I want to die, I don't want to live if this is what my life will be like...that is what is wrong.

Invalidated

Sometimes my therapy works to help me understand why certain patterns repeat in my life over and over again. Today's therapy was like that.

Therapy always leaves me feeling "heard", and (mostly) understood. This is something intensely important for me. I think today's session revealed why these two things are extremely interconnected and even more importantly, why they are so important to me and my well-being.

I just returned from a short vacation at a horse ranch and spa in the B.C. interior. I went with my beau, my friend E and my sister and 2 nieces. I haven't seen my sister for a while. When she came to my house in preparation to leave she told my boyfriend and I that my Dad might "pop in" to the ranch to visit.

This information put a damper on my vacation from the start. I love my Dad, but he is often not very nice to me. I find him very difficult to be around. To me it seemed intrusive for him to jut show up.

When I mentioned my stress about Dad coming my sister began saying things like:

• "He's not like that".
• "You need to give him a chance".
• "He does not treat you poorly".
• "He is always nice to you".
• "You know Dad, he just doesn't know how to talk, and you make it worse by getting hurt by him"
• "You have to get over your problems with Dad"

I felt completely letdown by my sister. She has seen my Dad reduce me to tears more times than probably I can remember. She hears and watches him ruthlessly tease me and belittle me. I thought she recognized why I so often feel hurt by how it treats me. Apparently, according to her, Dad isn't the instigator, in fact, he does not treat me poorly at all. It is just my wrong perceptions that hurt me.

I am willing to concede, that after years of emotional, and at times when I was a child and a young teenager, physical abuse, that I am sensitive to how he treats me. I know sometimes I overreact to small triggers. I believe though, that this overreaction is not my fault, but the fault of a man, who is supposed to be my father, continuing to abuse me, and destroy what little self-esteem I have left. At times I think he belittles me, and holds back his love from me, for the fun of it, just to watch me fall apart and cry.

It is funny (not ha, ha...but strange funny) that this weekend when my sister and I were canoeing near my Dad's canoe, we sped up really fast and in unison yelled, "Dad, look at us". We both cracked up when we realized some small child inside ourselves was still screaming, "Daddy, Daddy, look at me, look at me".

To make things worse my sister also began lecturing me on how:

• "no wonder you are depressed. you sleep so much, how are you ever going to get well if all you do is sleep?". (this comment came 1/2 way through the vacation, just when I was marvelling at my ability to do as much as I was, when I felt as depressed as I felt)
• "If you did more you would get better" (neglecting that to do more I would need to have the missing motivation, energy, and mood, and ability to do more...all these have been ripped from me throughout this MDD
• " You are never going to be someone unless you get doing things." Translation: your life will never amount to anything if you do not get back to work. You are choosing to stay depressed. You are only an important person if you are working and contributing to society.

There were more comments like these throughout her lectures...the thing that really hurt me, was that I thought she was the sister that understood how hard I try. I thought she understood how depressed I am, and how that impacts my ability to do things.

On top of this my boyfriend talked to me about how, "You are not sick, nothing is wrong with you" A statement that left me feeling really unheard, and misunderstood. It is not that I want to be sick, or seen as sick, but I also do not want others to think nothing is wrong with me, and I am just to lazy to try harder in my life.

I talked to Dr. X about what went on with my sister and my boyfriend, but I could not really place why I felt as hurt as I did. Dr. X said maybe it was because I felt invalidated by their comments.

That is EXACTLY what I felt and feel when these kinds of discussions take place. My family is not listening to me. They are not understanding how difficult this battle is for me. I feel like I am battling for my life, but they do not even acknowledge I am in a battle. They see my difficulties as a character flaw.

Dr. X and I discussed how both my sisters', and my Dad's expectations of performance are mirroring the malevolent feelings of guilt I have about not working; how the family belief system is so ingrained in all of us that it just keeps replicating this guilt, and guilt inducing, behaviour in everyone in our family. It is true. I belittle and poke and prod myself to do more, do something, get going, get active....Get better...get back to work. I have become the voice of my father, and the voice of my sister...that why it hurts so much to hear. I am hearing the same guilt producing words I hear every single day from myself.

I know my sisters both love me. I think my Dad probably does too. When I realize their voices are replicating negative patterns that are held deep within our family's psyche. I recognize these thoughts and feelings are held unconsciously, and so deeply they may always be there.

On many levels I know my sisters, my Dad, and my boyfriend are really trying to help me. I understand they may see their comments as encouraging, and helpful. I think they want what is best for me. Sadly, when I hear these kinds of comments I feel he exact opposite: I feel unbearably guilty, alone, unheard, and invalidated.

Suicidal Ideation

Last night my boyfriend looked at me and said, "don't go to the hospital. You are not that depressed". A few days back I told him I was thinking of having ECT done again. He was adamant that I not do this.

If I try to express how depressed I am he has a tendency to say, "You are okay", "You aren't depressed", "Your not that depressed". I have tried to explain what it feels like to be inside my head. It never seems to register with him. Either he does not understand how desperate I feel, or he does not want to understand.

I know some of it might be that I try hard to be as okay as possible around him. Two reason drive this: my fear he will leave me if he knows how messed up I am, and my respect and support for his own difficulties with mental illness.

He has attempted suicide before, years ago, and I see the external and internal scars from his internal pain, his sadness, the scars on his arms from cutting. This, and my knowledge that his father committed suicide, stop me from openly and honestly expressing how I feel. I also know he was hospitalized against his will; so I recognize his distrust of the system. I do not want to add to his stress in these areas.

Our relationship feels strong and intensely beautiful in so many ways, but it is new for both of us. I do not want to risk losing him by exposing myself as fully as I need to for him to see how desperate and depressed I feel, for him to understand what I am fighting against, for him to know I need to get better than I am to survive my illness.

He kept saying over and over last night..."you are okay", "You are not that depressed", "We are all depressed", "Just get more exercise", "Push yourself, you just need to force yourself to exercise and it will be better". I found myself sobbing silently beside him, looking the other way, feeling completely misunderstood; my symptoms and their power over me dismissed outright.

Last night, as I sat beside him, I could not say "I am so depressed I want to hang myself". I did not express how my wanting to hang myself is a desire gaining so much power I am afraid I will succumb to it. I did not say these things because his father hanged himself to death, and he attempted suicide in this manner. I was afraid the information would be too much for him to deal with.

I want him to think I am strong and powerful. I want him to feel attracted to me, not repulsed by me...so I cover my true feelings up, and then cry and feel isolated when he does not understand me.

In my life talking about wanting to commit suicide is so taboo that I feel intensely alone in my thoughts. This divide, this avoidance of the awful suicidal ideation I deal with on a regular basis, creates a cavern between myself and the people I love. It makes me feel intensely alone in my struggle to survive my depression. It makes me pull away and isolate myself from those I love.

Today my mood is crashing again, after lifting for a few days. In part I think the fall is a reaction to feeling misunderstood and isolated from my boyfriend and family. When I crashed a few weeks ago, and as I was crashing last night, I tried to reach out or support. Both times I hit a brick wall with my family.

I rarely mention my suicidal urges to my sisters, or my boyfriend. If I do try to be open out of fear and desperation for myself , I sometimes try to explain how depressed I am; "so depressed I don't want to be here" might be what I say to my sisters. Instantaneously they brush my feelings off with an, "Oh, don't say that. How do you think we would feel if you did that?" I know it would hurt them if I commited suicide, but what about me? I hurt all the time.

My sisters do not want to hear how sad I am, and my Dad, he has never once ever asked me if I am okay...not once. He has phoned me to say my stepsister was depressed and needed help. He has told me how crazy he thought my going in for ECT was...4 years after the fact. He has never asked if I was okay, or if I needed help, or if I was having any success with my treatment. He has certainly never asked me if I was at risk of committing suicide. I am.

When my Mom wasalive she was a nurse. She used to talk openly with me about suicide. She would even ask me if I was having suicidal thoughts or urges. With her I would always leave the phone call feeling heard and relieved that someone knew, someone wanted to know. Someone loved me enough to ask and actually listen to my answer. Why is it so important to me that others understand how depressed I am, and how hard it is to be this depressed? I have no idea why.

I wish my family (and my boyfriend) understood how desperate I feel; how much I need and want them to understand me. I want so badly to be able to tell them my truth, for them to talk openly with me even if it is difficult to do, and for them to acknowledge that I am ill. I want them to say this is not my fault. I want them to say, "I AM trying hard enough". I don't want them to feel hurt by me and my awful thoughts, but I need help with them or I am not going to survive.

Whatever...I don't know why I need so desperately to be understood; maybe because I don't understand either. Last night my boyfriend kept saying, "you need to address what is making you depressed. Nothing will get better if you don't change those things".

At that point I began sobbing so hard I had to leave the room. I have been in therapy for years a fact that screams to others and to myself, "things" are causing my depression, and I need to change those things." Despite a sense that there must be things that are making me depressed...I honestly feel like all the things I want to change, would fall into place if I was not depressed.

I would get a job, clean my house, do more things, isolate less, stop obsessing about suicide, dance, play music, ski, eat well, sleep less etc...if only I weren't so severely depressed.

No one wants to acknowledge this raging rhinoceros, named "Suicide", rocketing towards me and racing after me every where I go. So I write here, because at least I can say how I feel.

Disorganized, Disconnected and Despondent

I had an appointment with Dr. X. yesterday. Thank god. I am not feeling well at all. Sometimes it really helps to just sit across from him and know even if I give up, he won't. That is what he told me yesterday. He never gives up, even if nothing seems to work there are always other things to try. He will never give up on me, maybe change the plan, but never stop trying to help me.

I feel like giving up. I cannot mange to do my housework. My dog is completely overwhelming me and I find myself sitting in a daze starring at the wall, or breaking out into tears because I can't keep up with life.

This is extraordinarily embarrassing, because I want so badly to have a clean house and to be seen as tidy and organized; or "together and a desirable human being. However, since I moved into my place in mid-April I have vacuumed once, I have made periodic attempts to tidy my house, but if I tidy the living room I return to the kitchen and it is a disaster. If I manage to clean my studio area I walk into the living room and it is a mess again.

I am having a difficult time grocery shopping for myself, and even if I buy groceries I cannot seem to cook anymore, or eat well. I feel exhausted all the time, so when I am hungry I grab something I can just eat.

On Wednesday my food intake consisted of 1/2 a cinnamon bun, 7-8 crackers with peanut butter on them, a very white sandwich consisting of turkey, white cheese and white bread, a store bought chocolate milk, and a very stiff drink. The piece of lettuce on my sandwich was my only vegetable that day. I barely had the energy to make the drink. Lame.

Dishes, dirty clothes, art supplies, books, newspapers, dog toys and treats, art props, easels and unfinished paintings litter my house. Anything I pick up, look at or use remains wherever I last touched it. Nothing gets put away. The mess grows in leaps and bounds.

My dog completely overwhelms me right now. He is big, powerful and extremely headstrong and disobedient at 1 year old. I thought I had been working so hard to train him and ensure he becomes a well behaved dog. I spend so much time with him, I socialize him with other dogs and people. I try to teach him the basics; sit, down, stay, leave it and come. He follows my requests when he wants to. When we are alone at home. The instant another canine steps into the picture I become a invisible and ignored. I get so frustrated with his jumping and tugging on the leash; his general unruliness and his misbehaviour. I do not have the energy, or patience for a misbehaving dog. Sometimes I just break out in tears at how much my training and love has failed. I am crying just thinking about it. How could I have tried so hard, worked so hard, spent so much time and energy to ensure I have a good dog, and failed so miserably,

My husband (we have separated) used to tell me everyone has to do all the things I have trouble with; everyone has to do things they did not like to do. He used to tell me I wasn't sick, just lazy, or angry at having to do all these things. He said it so often that I started to believe it.

My new partner is so supportive and understands. Last night when I was crying about how I cannot keep up with the housework he said, "It is okay, your house isn't that messy, and it's clean. your mess is a clean mess, just some things out of place, but it's not that bad".

He's sweet. I don't believe his assessment of the situation,, but it's nice to not be berated for being to depressed to clean. It's good to know someone is understanding and gets how hard it is to keep up with the basics in life.

Overwhelmed, Unable to Get Well, and Fed Up.

Waiting for a friend in my car. I am legally parked just past a bus stop, but the road is really busy and cars are weaving in and out of traffic at about 20-30 kms over the speed limit...numerous buses (at least their driver's) honk angrily at me as the pull out and pass my car

Bus Driver waiting at bus stop walks past me, towards the traffic sign so he can gain ammunition to tell me, with authority, I am illegally parked. His plan backfires. He reads it and walks back towards me...

Bus Driver: I know you are legally parked here, but it is very dangerous to stop here.

Me: I am waiting for my friend. It says I can stop. Why is it dangerous? (knowing full well why, but feeling really irritatable, angry and overwhelmed by life, and really becoming annoyed at all the jerky bus drivers honking at me, and by the the condescending tone of the bus driver addressing me)

Bus Driver: Buses are pulling out, cars are swerving to avoid you. They are driving at 70kms/hr. They might hit you.

Me: The speed limit is 50km/hr.

Bus Driver: If I were you I would be afraid to park here. I'd be afraid a car or bus might run into me or run right over me..

Me: (In my head) I see all the crazy drivers wizzing by at mach speed, barely missing my car. I noticed that not a single other car is parked in this lane. I deduced it was a dangerous place to park. I don't care. I'm sitting here precisely because I am hoping one of these cars or buses will crash into me at 70kms/hr.

An Outcast

Caution: May trigger. Suicidal thoughts/plans

I am severely depressed right now. I have been crying off and on. I feel disconnected, detached and isolated/isolating. I feel as though I am not really here and have not been for a long, long time.

I feel alone; that aloneness that comes from always feeling like an outsider, like an other, someone unknown by others and someone unknown to themselves.

I have had thoughts of suicide more frequently over the past few weeks, but yesterday and today the thoughts felt unbearable; unendurable.

Today I spent a long time thinking how to commit suicide and have my dog taken care of. The thoughts had no content about how to care for myself, only my dog.

I'm not sure how to protect him and allow myself to go. The worry is that I will kill myself and no one will find me for a long time and my dog will starve or die of thirst. No one will find me because I am alone. No one ever looks for me.

Today I kept looking at all my hoarded meds...thinking if I took them all surely I would die...but as I thought that and prayed for an ending my mind moved into more violent thoughts.

I kept thinking about maiming myself, stabbing myself, slashing myself. It seemed so easy to do. I kept envisioning how the slicing and stabbing would open me up, pour all my bad blood out of me, cleanse me, calm me...the blood flowing out of my body slowly draining me of sadness and pain.

I crawled into bed and fell asleep for a few moments. When I woke the pain and the thoughts were still there, but had lost some of their magnetic pull. I laid there for 1/2 an hour and decided to see if I could visit a friend, just to get me away from myself. I called her and invited myself over.

I didn't tell her exactly how much pain I was in, but I did ask for company and caring. She helped me immensely, just by being there and listening. I feel although I have slipped in terms of mood and returned to the dark side today I utilized a healthy coping technique at the end of all the unhealthy ones...I called a friend for help, and she was there for me. Since I returned home my thoughts have slipped into darkness again, but I remember the time spent with my friend felt good.

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.

Hell and More Hell and More Hell and More Hell

All I want to do is lay down, hide under the covers and sleep. I don't want to do art, teach art, sing, write, shop, dress or even get out of bed. Everything I manage to do takes an enormous effort to do. Everything is annoying me. My dog keeps "talking" at me to go out all the time (even if I just took him outside not long ago), my husband, the staff at the Art Clubhouse...everything and everyone. I can't cook, or clean, do the dishes, shop, or do laundry. The house is a mess and my sister and two of my neices are coming tomorrow. All I want to do is sleep.

I've been crying off and on throughout the day, because I struggle so much with wanting so badly to be better. I want to be better. I try to help myself. I know I don't do enough; if I did all the things I was supposed to do I would be better. It is me that is stopping me from getting better.

For some reason I always run out of steam, or I seem to gain momentum in getting well and then I fall right back into the blackness I have been mired in for so long. I garner the hope, I make the effort. I try. I fail. It is getting more and more difficult to continue trying.

Dr. X. says it can always get better, there is always something we can do to help me, there is hope...but the longer I live with depression the more I am certain of my bleak future. I have tried so many medications that at this point I pretty much think none will help me more than a tiny bit. That is not enough.

My husband thinks I'm lazy. He repeatedly mentions how much I am sleeping and how little I have done, am doing, have been doing, around the house. It is as if he thinks I don't notice what a crappy housekeeper I am; as if he thinks I don't recognize I have a problem. He thinks he needs to tell me because obviously I am not noticing I am a shitty wife.

I do recognize. I do know I am not doing my fair share at home. I feel intensely guilty about this. I always had so much energy before I became depressed, even when I was depressed before this depression I managed to work, cook, clean etc. Now I can't even manage to eat properly, or go for a decent walk, or stay out of bed.

Today I was looking at my hoard of medications. Thinking about taking them, over and over. This afternoon I felt so mad at myself, so enraged by my inability to make myself change: I wanted to shoot myself, stab myself over and over; kill myself. I don't have a gun. I am afraid of the pain a knife would cause. I have no energy to kill myself: to plan, to execute the plan, to end it all. All I want to do is sleep.

I wish I could let go. I wish I could disappear. I wish I would die. I wish I had the resolve to do what I have wanted to do for years.

But I don't. So I stay stuck and tormented in this hell. This is what I have to look forward to...a life in hell. And when that ends I will probably end up in hell again because I didn't live my life the way I was supposed to. Ironic, fucking ironic!

Sex and Aggression

"The Rape of Hera"

It is interesting that Hera is both the Goddess of Marriage, yet her marriage to Zeus came out of him raping her...disturbing.

I have cycled down into a deep depression again. I suppose if I cycled down, I am down from somewhere that was "up". I suppose that should be reassuring. Dr. X explained to me as much. He said I had had a good cycle up. I have had several small cycles up, but this last one lasted a long time and the pattern is showing more cycles up. I guess I should feel good about that. I don't.

Every time I cycle down from a high I feel worse than if I had just remained low. I think I learn to live with the lows over time and do things in spite of them. When I go from high to low it feels like I have been bulldozed over by a huge machine. Something giant machine outside myself is digging a massive hole and trying to bury me. I feel dead.

In my appointment today we discussed my being "sexually assaulted". Dr. X. called it that. He said I was assaulted. I think I knew he thought so, but sometimes when he sits silent I fill in the blanks with all kinds of negative thoughts...like with this example.

My wondering if Dr. X. thought it wasn't rape is actually me wondering if I didn't lead the guy on too much...because I remember really enjoying kissing and playing around. I was naked, in bed, sending mixed messages. I was even lustful, until he started to force me to have sex.

Dr. X. and I also talked about how my sexual fantasies relate to this assault. My fantasies all revolve around being forced, either mentally, or physically; my feeling "taken" by someone, or unable to say no, or (in my fantasies) raped. Dr. X. reassured me my fantasies are within the realm of normal. He did however talk about the link between my being forced to have sex and my fantasizing about sex this way.

There were some good feelings happening before the man forced me, and afterwards sex with other men became so much better because during the aggressive sexual encounter something happened that made sex not hurt like it had prior to this act.

Before the assault intercourse had been really, really painful, afterwards it was not. I suspect in my previous sexual encounters (which were not very much) my hymen had not broken completely. After the aggressive sex during the assault it tore completely and sex suddenly was no longer painful.

So perhaps I associated this violent act against me with some good things to...the feelings of being aroused beforehand, and the freedom from painful intercourse afterwards. Also, sex with my previous boyfriend had been beautiful, caring and extremely lustful...but it had also been very, very painful to have intercourse. I assumed sex was painful. Perhaps my brain began then to associate pain with sex. Whatever the cause my brain closely links aggression and pain with sex, leading me to fantasize about being taken against my will, or my better judgement.

Dr. X said I could get help for this, but I am not sure my fantasies are a bad thing, and Dr. X. says the thoughts are normal. In many ways I feel my thoughts are about creativity and wanton lust...something I value in myself...as long as I don't act on the lustful thoughts outside my marriage.

It feels good to be able to talk with Dr. X about these things. I am surprised I am able to talk with a male therapist so openly. Dr. X makes it easy to be so open. I appreciate that.

Fears of Abandonment?

Last night I had a dream:

...I dreamed that a friend of mine decided to stop taking her medications (in the dream MAOI's and Ativan). She phoned me and told me to watch for them in the water flue beside my house. Every morning, first thing in the morning I would go to the flue and there I would find her 4 perfectly preserved pills sitting on the edge of the water. I felt suicidal, so I began hoarding these pills.

One day when I went to pick up the pills there was a note beside them. It had been torn in two, along the bottom. I pieced it together. It was written by my friend and read: "Dr X will be seeing only 9 patients a week. He will no longer take new patients and will stop seeing the patients he has until he sees only 9 original patients"

I was desperately sad, and severely depressed. I needed help. I wanted to kill myself. I was planning on taking the hoarded medication, not because I thought he was leaving me, but because I was depressed. The only hope I felt was in my therapy sessions with Dr. X.

I had an appointment the next day. I got to his office and found a man in his office. Dr X walked in and didn't say anything to me. Inside I was getting angry, because clearly he knew he was going to dump me as a patient and he wouldn't get rid of the other man in the room. Someone knocked on the door and two women came in. Dr. X began reading the paper, the 3 others began talking amongst themselves. I tried to talk, but no one was listening and I felt uncomfortable bringing up Dr. X's impending departure and my impending suicide.

I was becoming both distraught and absolutely furious for the way I was being treated in my appointment (i.e. ignored, other people in the room, no respect for my privacy, Dr. X obliviously reading the paper). I could not bring up my suicidal thoughts, or my hoarding medication, because I was afraid he would think I was being manipulative and trying to make him not leave me. No matter how much I knew this was not true, I could not stop believing this is how the information would be perceived.

I started yelling very loudly at him..."Are you leaving your practice? Am I one of the 12 patients? Why are you ignoring me? Can't you see I am having trouble? Can't you see I am not well yet?

He looked at me and said he had found money in his child's account. $45,800.00 (maybe $43,800.00??unsure). He had figured out that financially he did not have to work like he did anymore.

I asked him if I was going to be able to see him. He ignored every question I had, and everything I said except he told me I was being unreasonable for wanting the others out of the room. That if they stayed in the room maybe I would get better.
I raced out of the room, climbed out an open window and took all the pills I had hoarded.

At What Point is There No Hope Left?

I volunteered to teach a class today. I was dreading teaching the whole time beforehand, even as I drove to the studio. While I was teaching I felt some relief; I was too distracted by the complexities of the lesson to think about how much I wanted to die. The second I touched the door to leave I was exhausted and fell once again into myself and all the hell that brings with it.

When I look objectively at what I have tried to do to to help myself make the depression go away it frightens me. It scares me that I have tried so much, and so many things, and still nothing is consistently helping my depression dissipate. My mood still continues to cycle, I still feel angry and frustrated and depressed, anxious and panicky, and can't sleep, or sleep too much, eat too much, avoid everything, have difficulty leaving the house, doing things, cleaning, cooking, laundry, dishes, sex, lose interest in everything, lose hope...All this never goes away for any length of time. When it does it feels like temptation threatening to drown me as soon as I begin enjoying myself. I feel like Satan sits and waits for a good mood to begin inside me...and then BLAMO! he whacks me upside the head just to show me I am still lost to hell. Paradise; a life of enjoyment and happiness, is lost.

It gets to the point where I begin to ask: Is it worth it? Am I worth it? There is a lot of money, medication, time and effort, both on my part, and the part of others, going into helping me become well. If, as I suspect, I will always cycle in and out of depression: What is the point of all this trying? From a utilitarian perspective it makes no sense at all to keep me here.

Why take medications? Why continue in therapy? Why continue living? If life is going to be as hard as it has been these last 7.5 years and the two years, with a two month reprieve before that...and the too numerous to remember episodes of depression before that, if life is going to be this hard a struggle forever...why keep trying? At some point don't you just give up and say it will never get better. Live with it, accept it, give in, or die. Dr. X said let him carry my hope, but at what point is that futile? At what point to we both concede to having been beaten by this illness? If you review all I have tried you will think the same thing:

1. 19: Journals filled with writing

2. 304: Number of blog entries

3. 425: Psychotherapy sessions with Dr. X. (give or take a few)

4. 21250: Minutes of therapy with Dr X

5. 14.75: years in my life lost to depression (conservative estimate)

6. 6.2: Number of years spent unemployed because of my depression

7. 104: Number of days on top of the 6.2 years lost employment because I could only manage working 4 days/week

8. 29: Number of years underemployed because of my depression

9. More than 8640: Number of pills bought to try to treat my depression if prescriptions were all one pill per day (many weren't/aren't)

10. 288: Number of bottles of pills purchased

11. Hundreds: of Visits to the pharmacy

12. 33: Number of psychotropic medications tried**

13. 9: Number of different vitamin/supplements tried

14. 8: Number of ECT sessions received

15. 177: Approximate number of months I have spent depressed in my lifetime

16. 5384: Approximate number of days spent depressed

17. 40: Number of years spent anxious and wanting to hide

18. 36: Number of years I remember having difficulty sleeping

19. 6: Number of therapists I have seen

20. 3: Number of psychiatrists I have seen

21. 2: Number of psychiatrists/ therapists I connected with

22. 1. Number of Psychiatrists, Doctors, Health Care Workers I trust.

Supplements/Vitamins I have tried/++Supplements/Vitamins I am currently taking:

1. St. John's Wort


2. Valerian


3. Salmon Oil (took 6 grams/day)


4. L-Tryptophan 2grams/day


5. Iron supplement twice daily++


6. B100 Complex (B1 100mg) ++


7. B12


8. Folic acid 1.0 mg


9. 100mgs of each B vitamins++


10. Multivitamin++

SSRI's

1. Prozac 60 mgs
2. Paxil
3. Celexa
4. Effexor
5. Luvox
6. Zoloft

Novel Anti-depressants:
7. Wellbutrin.
8. Remeron
9. Moclobemide

Tricyclic Antidepressants:
10. Nortriptyline
11. Amtrytiline (took for trauma symptoms...for 5 days after a traumatic incident)
12. Desiprimine

Anticonvulsants/Mood Stabilizers:
13. Lamotrigine 200mg
14. Lithium
15. Epival
16. Gabapentin
17. Lithium (800-1200mg)
18. Carbamazepine (800-1000mg)

Benzodiazepines:
19. Clonazepam
20. Diazepam
21. Lorazepam
22. Temazepam

Beta blocker:
23. Propranolol

Other:
24. Low dose Doxepine
25. Clonidine

Atypical Antipsychotics:
26. Seroquel
27. Risperdal
28. Olanzapine

Hypnotics/Sleep Medication

29. Trazadone (25/50mg/100mg/200mg/300mg)
30. Zopiclone (7.5mg/15mg)

Stimulants:

31. Ritalin
32. Dexedrine (tablets and spansules 5-20mgs)
33. Modafinil

Note: Also tried numerous combinations of above medications

Am I doing something wrong? Am I making things not work? If so What? and Why? Does this happen to other people? Am I the only one who never gets better? Why? I used to want so badly to live a beautiful life. Now I have no desire to live.

Happiness Sits Amongst the Saddest of Times

Warning: May Trigger...but may also provide some hope even in the bleakest of times.

As I went to bed last night I recognized it was okay to die, so I lay awake most of the night last night planning how to kill myself. I managed to get through the night and get up and go to my pdoc appointment. The whole way there, and as I sat down in the chair to talk I was feeling intensely guilty about making these plans, but also praying for some relief from both my life, and the thoughts.

I had one of those appointments where I felt so small, so insignificant, so worthless, until Dr. X started talking to me and caring about me. I have no way of knowing if he really cares, or if what he does is his "job", but he always manages to make me feel connected to at least him. For that I am grateful.

In my appt, amidst tears and anxiety, Dr. X asked me if there was anything good that happened over the past week. At the time I could only think of a couple things, but this is my exercise this evening, to remember any joy I felt even in the darkness of my thinking. To try to brighten the darkness I feel now with memories of happy moments:

Here goes:
1) My youngest sister has the most beautiful smile. She has a dimple when she smiles carried over from my maternal grandfather. I love her smile.

2) I love listening to her. She speaks with radiance and excitement about all her activities and her children. She draws you into her stories. She has a killer sense of humour

3) My youngest neice is 5. I completely cracked up when she did this to me...it's her latest gag

...imagine a perfect southern drawl coming from a beautiful sparkling (Canadian) 5 year old imitating someone between Scarlet O'hara and Mae West:

• She flicks back her hair and her head; looks directly into your eyes and says,
• "My you're a tall drink 'o water. Wanna dance?
• We proceed to waltz around the house and it begins again...
• this time with her looking directly into my eyes and pushing my hair off my forehead...
• "My you're beautiful. Wanna dance?"

4) Her sister 8 years old coming home with the most incredible report card, saying she is being put ahead into reading groups two years above her grade because she is such a great reader. The teacher commented "If all my students were as interested in learning, as thoughtful towards others and polite to everyone as A is, my job would be easy"

5) Listening to this niece read and recognizing her love for reading is even bigger than mine was at her age...and mine was huge.

6) Getting packed up to leave my sister's house and going to get my "pearly white" dog, (who I had, just the night before described to my little sister as "Super white, but you should see him dig holes, he's black, shakes of and he's super white again...it's a miracle).

Calling him into the house so we can leave for my Dad's in 5 minutes. The the dog is soaking wet and has BLACK mud all over himself. Needless to say I had to give him a bath and was late to my Dad's.

7) Had I known what an ass my Dad was going to be I would have "accidentally" let the muddy black dog into his house...but I am too responsible...sigh! That thought brings me some levity though. It would have been funny on some level.

8) Driving down to Victoria with my other two nieces (who had spent the night at there Grann and Poppa's) All three of us signing Hannah Montana and Miley Cyrus songs that I downloaded for them on my ipod...We sang, and sang...they are adorable.

9) My sister and I went shopping and I found 3 beautiful bras...(I have a bit of a bra fetish)...a gorgeous khaki one, a black one that laces up the front and a lacey pink one. As soon as I got home the dog ate my lacey pink one...he too has a bra fetish.

10) I let my dog pee in my psychopathic/control freak brother in law's "perfect garden/lawn that even the kids can't walk on...just because every time I thought how mad my BIL would be if he knew the dog was peeing on his immaculate, useless lawn I felt like laughing (yes, I have a bit of a "spritelike" mischievousness about me sometimes..hee, hee.. I couldn't stop the dog anyways...he's a puppy and he really needed to pee right then and there.

11) I love my sister and it was good to see her, even if it is unbearable in her house because of her husband.

12) The whole time I was away I had my beautiful puppy with me. My love for him grows stronger everyday.

13) When I got home I went for breakfast with a friend I am getting to know and becoming close to. She really listened to me struggling, but after a while her company made me happier and my involvement in our conversations made me distracted from my own worries. She really helped me calm down.

14) Despite how desperately sad I was in my appointment today, Dr. X let me know I was cared for by him. At the time I struggled with believing that, but this evening I believe he does truly care for me. That helps.

15) I took a walk with my dog at the University today. A man came up to me and we started talking about dogs on campus and how there need to be more of them.

When he left he said, "It was nice talking with you. God bless you". I really felt it was my Mom talking through him...like he knew I needed to hear those words. He began walking away, then stopped and came back. He said, "my name is Kirk, what's yours? I told him and he said, "Have a Merry Christmas Aqua" and then disappeared.

I started to cry, because I am really struggling with Christmas and why , if there was a God he would take my Mom away from me at such a young age, and why I can't get better. I needed someone to bless me right then and there, and it happened and it felt very intentional, and personal.

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.