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.

Disdain

I had two dreams the other day about Dr. X. rejecting me. The theme in both was the same, but I can only remember the details of one:

In the dream I have met a man and am enjoying his company. Soon I discover Dr. X is his good friend. After a few days the man dumps me while we are in some kind of theatre or concert venue. Dr. X is sitting beside this man when the man breaks up with me. As I am getting up to leave Dr. X gives me an intensely hurtful look of disgust and disdain; a look that betrays his hatred of me and his loathing for me.

The look sends me many messages, all awful. His look tells me I am not good enough. I am stupid. I am laughable. I sense there is a huge line drawn between him and people like me. I am not worth anything. I am worthless. I do not belong anywhere near "people like him". (successful, knowledgeable, intellectual people)

I woke up on the verge of tears.

I feel that way quite often. Like I am less of a human being than others. That I am bad and disdainful. That others are so much better than me. I sense a divide between people who are well, intelligent and successful, and myself, like I have failed at what is expected of me; that I have not met the standards for valuable people.

In my appointment Dr. X asked me if I recognized that this isn't the case..no I don't. I suspect it is the case but people only talk about it behind my back. That people I know laugh at me, think I am a bad person, think I am completely messed up, think things like if they weren't friends with my husband I would not be worth seeing.

I know some people feel like this, feel the divide between me and them. I see it when they talk with me. I felt it in my choir on Wednesday. Like I was trying too hard to fit in. At one point the two sisters next to me, who I thought liked me, started talking in sign language a few times when I made mistakes. I am certain they were making fun of me. That made me feel intensely self conscious, sad and lonely.

I feel like I will never be normal, never fit in, always be "outside the circle"; that circle where the people who matter , or people who count, exist.

Let Others Carry the Hope For You

Foreword: I titled this photo "Grief and Shame", not because of how I was, or how I felt in my appointment today. I felt no grief and no shame because Dr. X was sincere and caring about the feedback he provided me, and how he provided it. In fact I felt intensely valued and cared for, in part because he told me the truth about how what I did affected him. No, I titled the picture "Grief and Shame" because it is how I so often felt as a child when my dad made tried to correct me by making fun of me: Grief because I wanted him to love me so much and he didn't, and shame that I was never what he expected me to be. I was never good enough.

My therapy lesson today:

"Let others carry the hope for you, let me carry it for you." Dr. X said this to me today, while I was crying and feeling like all my hope had disappeared. What an incredibly kind and loving thing to say to a patient.

Dr. X did a lot of trying to lift my spirits today. When I was complaining of not being able to remember my songs, he had me try, and when I got a few words he said..."You ARE remembering". When I was crying about my anxiety and ineptness in my choir practice last night he told me to be anxious, have performance anxiety and sing anyways, if you make a mistake be embarrassed and consider that [having sung and been embarrassed and lived through it] therapeutic. When I was stressing out about what is happening in my Art class, he told me I was talented and a good leader.

At first I brushed the kind words off with a, "you're just saying that because it's your job". He told me it annoyed him that I brushed his comments of like that, that I did not feel he was sincere. I immediately recognized what he meant.

I laughed, not because it was funny that he felt annoyed, but because I instantaneously felt that moment of "Touche", (he was right). I knew immediately what he meant by his feedback, I knew I had annoyed him, and exactly how I had done so. It was rude for me to dismiss his comments to me, as though he were lying to me.

I apologized, and he smiled and said, "that's okay I can take it"...and then asked that I please not ruminate on my mistake all day. Which I said I wouldn't, but of course, unfortunately (or fortunately) I will.

I say "fortunately" because rumination is sometimes good for me; especially if it helps me learn a lesson, and/or learn something about my reactions and interactions with others.

I recognize a couple things about my dismissive reaction to Dr. X's support and caring words. First, dismissiveness is a character trait I loathe. It reminds me immediately of my dad, or my husband when they are at there worst. I recognize I have that awful trait within me too. I often dismiss other people's kind words about me. Not good. I am going to work on that.

Second, I believe I dismissed Dr. X. because I could not actually believe someone really felt something good about me, or cared about me that much. I recognize now that is an automatic reaction I have to praise. The root of this reaction may be the hypervigilence I have felt, and continue to feel when I am in the company of my dad. I am never sure if what he is saying is true, or if it is meant to tease, bully and embarrass me; to draw me in and make me feel good, only to later find it was/is a backhanded compliment; one meant to humiliate me.

Due to my dad's unpredictable mood and reactions to me I was constantly on the lookout for a double meaning in what he was saying, or the "real" intent behind his praise. When he paid me a compliment I never knew if it was real or not. It rarely was real. It usually was another means to make me feel I was the bad person, or the loser he thought I was.

Third, because of my previous experiences with my dad, and very similar experiences with other men (I have never very good at picking men who are genuine, or who care much about me), my immediate response to a man's positive feedback is to either discount it, or to dismiss it outright.

It may be a case of 'you get what you expect' (I.E., if I always dismiss men's compliments, then I become annoying to them and they no longer care about me). It would be hard to care about someone who technically is calling you a liar all the time.

I wonder if I dismissed Dr. X because I find it hard to believe someone (especially a man), cares for me? Maybe the disbelief is about myself? Or maybe I dismiss his kindness to further isolate myself; maybe I push him away right now because I feel like I don't want to be here, and if I can only believe no one cares about me, I could go.

Whatever the reason, it was really rude and impolite of me to discount, dismiss and to think Dr. X's was being disingenuous when he complimented and reached out to me. I apologize for that, but I won't "ruminate" on my mistake. I will learn from it. I have learned from it.

What? Why? How?

I usually start my pdoc appts by providing a recap of any symptoms I have been having. It's just always the way I start. I always forget something important. I should write what happens down. This is how it went this morning (as I remember it):

Me: I've been depressed, well all over the map actually.

Dr. X: All over the map?

Me: Yeah, depressed most of the time, but my mood has gone up when things happen, like I reconciled with my best friend, which I am very happy about. I visited another friend, Drawing with her one day, and that was fun. My mood went up. But when I got home I felt ashamed of how poorly I draw. I felt sad that I was as bad as I was.

Dr. X: This is something concrete we could help you with, your phobia of feeling ashamed, or embarrassed.

Me: Yeah. (Translation in my head)...nothing in the world will help me learn to trust people are honest with me. Nothing will ever make me stop feeling I am bad at things I do, and that people are always making fun of me, or dismissing me. Even when nothing in their actions suggests this.

There are so many times I have thought Dr. X was "most certainly ridiculing" my skills/talents. However, if I really think hard I can't see him doing that to anyone else. Why would he think bad things about me? Why would others think bad things about me? Why do I think bad things about me?

• I'm tired all the time and sleeping between 3:30 and 6, or one day from 2-6. I just get exhausted.
• I feel like I'm in a daze. It's not my memory as much as it feels like I am losing my brain cells. (I forgot to tell him I poured myself a drink and forgot the vodka...didn't clue in until I had drank half of it...duh!) (I did this again tonight...maybe my subconscious is telling me something)..."leave out the vodka"...Ya think?
  
  I picked up a knife right after making my coffee and looked at it wondering why I had done that, or I tried to put the martini shaker sieve on top of the vodka bottle. I take something out of the cupboard and have no idea why, I put thinks in the microwave that are supposed to go in the fridge. I momentarily look at the syrup (for my pancakes) and I can't remember what it is for...the list goes on.
  
  (Aside): I also forgot to tell him I am back to only two drinks a day. I was doing worse than that the past few weeks so that's good.
  
  This week and last week I forgot to tell him I have been falling....alot.
  
  At my middle sister's I took my dog out in the middle of the night to pee. I took a misstep on her porch (forgot there was a step there), fell, twisted my ankle, had a huge bruise and road rash on my back and on the palm of my hand. I thought I broke my foot.
  
  Afterwards, it was freaky, (but kind of funny), because as I feel I fell on the dog's leash, releasing him from his collar and there I am in agony unable to get up and my puppy takes off into my sister's back yard with no identification on him. I finally manage to get up, but at this point I have lost my shoes and am in my sock feet and I am limping all over my sister's soaking wet back yard in the pitch black trying to catch the dog...which, thank god, I did.
  
  I also fell twice in our driveway the past 3 days. I am destined to be one of those old ladies who falls and breaks her hip in old age. I have always been a klutz.
  
  Anyways...As the session proceeds....
  
  Me: Will you tell me how you see me? Tell me how you would explain me to a colleague if you had to pass me on to someone else.
  
  (Aside): So now Dr. X sits silent and inside my head I am thinking..."he's trying to frame bad news in some acceptable way, or he's trying to edit what he wants to say, rather than tell me the truth...and usually I interrupt and say it's okay to say what ever he thinks,
  ...but this time I slowed myself down and tried to think this silence is just his way. He is thoughtful about things before he speaks. He's just thinking. But deep inside I think he's thinking about how avoid giving me the truth, but I am struggling to believe he is, and always has been honest with me.
  
  Dr. X: First I would spend much of the time explaining your ongoing symptoms
• I would like to change the question, so rather than address a colleague, I am addressing you (this brings me a step closer to trusting he is going to be honest)

Me: Tell me what I am doing wrong. Am I doing something that is making nothing work? Am I resisting for some reason? Does my therapy need to done differently...can't think of the word

• I think it would be helpful for you to have some kind of benevolent structure in your life.

(I think he is referring to daily goals, plans and activities, that are both constant and positive for me. Examples, might be teaching at the Art Clubhouse, seeing friends, gaining more of a social network, exercise etc.)

Inside I feel the pain of losing my job, but recognize the structure there was too full of fear and stressful events for me to continue, but I long for that sense of accomplishment I got from working at something challenging. Deep inside I know I cannot manage the kind of stress that comes with a corporate job...still I long for the ability to work full-time again. So I ask about working.

Dr. X: You are working!

Me: (inside my head)...I mean REAL work. What I do is not good enough, I don't work enough, I am a burden on the system...but I don't say it because I know it must really annoy him that I can't move on and accept I am a different person now when it comes to the types of jobs I will be able to manage.

Dr. X: (Later on in the appt)...Actually I would like to see you go somewhere for a while, to the tropics or something, to somewhere that had a really structured longer term program.

Me: Like a sanitarium? (I was thinking of this in a positive way, as a place of rest with lots of support and stress relieving routines in place)

Dr. X: "No, that sounds too pejorative, something more like a retreat, where you felt you fit in with the other people there, where you did things together.

Me: (Inside)...that sounds more like a nightmare. I HATE group activities. I am a more one-one person or one - two person. Groups scare me.

(Out loud) I meant "Sanitarium in a positive way, like a place where a person goes to heal. (Inside)...I have thought about and tried to find someplace like that...you know like the places people with TB went at the turn of the century, or the places you read about where therapy is available and it is a beautiful, hospitable place to become well again)

There's more...but I will write about that later. I went into my session sad and feeling things will never change, but Dr. X soon began helping me feel cared for. While for the past few days and on the way to my pdoc appointment I just wanted to quit therapy and medicine and quit trying altogether. Sitting in the chair, across from Dr. X. for only a few moments changed my mind. He has a way of making me need to keep trying, even when I don't want to. I will.

Going away somewhere warm and sunny does sound like a good idea...hmmm.

I Am So Tired of Trying to Get Better.

(All photos by Aqua, November, 2008) These first two are the strangest mushrooms I have ever seen. At first glance I thought it was dog poop plopped on top of a stick, until I looked at it from ground level at the side (don't ask WHY I would do that if I thought it was poo!!!). When I looked at it from "mushroom level" it looked like something out of "Lord of the Rings"


I wanted to go into my appointment today and focus on all the things I DID do this week. I wanted to try to shift my appointments away from my morose and markedly anxious and depressed mood. Last week Dr. X. said we do not have to talk about my symptoms, or my depression in our sessions. We could have appointments where we just discuss other things and have a conversation about whatever I want.

At first that seemed weird. Why would I see a psychiatrist and not talk about my psychiatric problems. As the week wore on I began to think maybe that would be a good idea. Maybe if I focus on the things I enjoy, rather than the thing I least enjoy I would eventually forget I'm depressed (hey....I seem to forget everything else!).

I tried really hard this week to find pleasure in simple things. The most enjoyable moments were spent with my puppy, in the forest taking pictures of mushrooms.

Mushrooms? You may be REALLY worried for my mental health now,.but I cannot get over the diversity of these little things. I also cannot believe I never noticed all this variety of fungi sitting right in front of me my whole life. It is strange how when you start to look for something it is as though a magician has placed it everywhere in front of you .

Perhaps I should begin looking for, and recording, enjoyable moments. Maybe they would become as prolific and diverse as all the mushrooms I have been finding. Maybe eventually the damp, dark forest that is my mind would eventually create joy as abundantly and easily as the real forest breeds mushrooms.

Maybe each enjoyable moment would create a path in my brain, and finally all those paths would become happiness, or at the very least, the absence of depression.

Probably not. More and more and more and more and more etc. I sense this depression is never going away. I sense my Mom was right: I need to accept my depression and move on WITH it. Maybe some of us just never get better. Maybe some of us are destined to be depressed with only fleeting moments of feeling okay, or experiencing joy, insight, or happiness. Can I accept that as a life worth living?

Some may say I should feel blessed that at least I have moments of levity. Some people do not even get those moments.

I don't feel that way. Those ethereal moments almost feed my depression. I say this because the joy makes the sadness even more evident and profound. Every time the joy, the laughter, or the connection I feel with someone, or something, ends I feel even more depressed. Those short experiences of a lift in mood seem to be there only to show me what I am missing. While photographing these mushrooms I felt a sense that they had more of a meaningful and purposeful existence than me.

I am sorry that some people have no moments of joy, but I am losing patience with having no mood stability. I want the old me back, the working me, the proud me, the ideas me, the fun loving me, the free me, the gregarious and mischevious and loveable me. That said, I am pretty certain the old me is gone and this is the new me. If that is the case, I really would like would like this life to end ASAP. I'm not cut out for this anymore.

Please Don't Make Me Go...

Once again it is Monday and I have a class to teach later this afternoon. I do not want to go. I want to stay home and do nothing. I want to be alone.

Each day I am scheduled to teach, (and sometimes for days before) I dread having to go. Each time I go teach I generally have a pretty good time. I really like my assistant and the people in the class are great. I don't know what it is.

Last night I was supposed to go to a pumpkin carving contest at the house of a friend of my husband. As it got closer and closer to the day we were to go I began having more and more anxiety about being stuck in a social gathering where I only knew my husband, and sort of knew (enough to say niceties and hellos), the host.

By yesterday morning I thought I was going to be sick I was so anxious about going to a function with so many (approx. 30) unknown people. What would I say? I knew I would end up an outsider, sitting outside the circle looking in. I knew I would "disappear" into an anxiety fuelled bubble.

That bubble appears to protect me from outside forces. I disappear. In disappearing I no longer need to try to connect with other, because I am no longer in the room. I am cutoff from every noise, sight, smell; everything that enters me via my senses. There is a peacefulness to disappearing, but my anxiety strengthens each time my bubble disappears, because I have no idea what I looked like to others, or how long I was gone.

No one ever seems to notice, or if they do they never say anything. I have to assume the bubble is an instantaneous process, lasting only a split second.

My husband asked me yesterday if I wanted to go. I felt immediate relief. Thank god he asked. "NO, no I don't want to go. I don't know anyone. What am I going to say to people. I really really don't want to go." He said, "you don't have to. I'm only going to stay for a while anyways." "Are you sure?", I asked feeling instantaneously feeling intensely guilty for backing out of yet another social situation I was supposed to sharing with my partner. "You will miss out on the opportunity to meet a lot of really nice new people", he replied.

I felt ashamed that I simply cannot manage those situations. "I'm sorry honey, but I really do not want to go. I prefer small intimate gatherings where I know everyone. I do not do well at large gatherings where I know no one". He just walked away accepting my mind was made up. He went by himself. I still feel guilty.

I have taken to sleeping most of the day in preparation for my afternoon classes. I am afraid I won't have any energy when I get there. Dr. X. asked me if I had ever fallen asleep in my morning class? even if I had not slept the night before. I get where this is going. No, I have never fallen asleep. "Maybe try and do something else in the hours leading up to the class and see what happens. I reply, "Okay, I will try".

It is 11:32am and I am feeling anxious about my class. The more anxious I feel, the more I don't want to go. The more I don't want to go, the more tired I become. I want to hide under the covers, avoid the class, but I know I will go teach it. It is a responsibility and a commitment I have made to the young adults in the class and to the Art Clubhouse occupational therapists. So I will go, but I really, really need a nap to deal with it.

I Fear I Will Be Scrutinized

It is difficult to recreate the intricacies of a therapeutic moment, or moments when I come home, and sit down to write a post. Often, even within the therapeutic moment, it is difficult to describe, explain and sometimes, even bring up, what is going on inside my head. That is how I am feeling right now.

Dr. X. is so patient and understanding when I am trying to get things out. We have a long therapeutic history together, and on a huge level I trust him more than anyone on earth. Intellectually I know he is trustworthy. When it comes to an emotional level though, I have a difficult time trusting that anyone is who they appear to be.

His behaviour has always been consistently kind and compassionate. He has always appeared to care for me and not judge me in any way. In fact, I cannot think of a single time when, (factually vs. my paranoia) he was anything but supportive. I do not know why I cannot always believe he will not reject me, or does not secretly dislike me, or does not privately disrespect me, or think I'm a complete waste of space.

Most often I feel like my even thinking he would be like the person I worry he might be is disrespectful towards him on my part. He has never given me any indication he thinks anything but good thoughts about me. It is me who has difficulty believing; especially when I am really depressed.

I am using "belief "in the philosophical sense, where it is an unquestionable belief that leads to knowledge. An example might be believing the world to be round, allows you to take that next step and try to sail to the other side, whereupon a successful sailing, where you did not fall off the edge of the world leads to clear knowledge that, at the very least the world is not flat, and your belief it is round is closer to becoming knowledge.

This might be part of the problem. A patient can believe anything they want about their psychiatrist, but there is never any opportunity to have those beliefs turned into knowledge. You can never "know" your pdoc, you can only believe what you experience. To feel safe I need my beliefs backed up by knowledge.

The therapeutic alliance is such that the patient knows very little about the psychiatrist. In many ways this is a beautiful thing. For me it means Dr. X. can be anyone I need him to be at any given time. On another level it can be a frightening thing, especially if paranoia, or fear of rejection, or an intense need to be cared for, or valued, or not rejected are symptoms that flair up and become intense when I am depressed. Unfortunately, when I am really depressed, it makes sense that Dr. X. becomes the subject of my fears.

Today we reviewed my schedule. I did not do very well. In fact the things I really feel NEED changing did not get done at all. This led to the following paraphrased and (very) abridged recap of our discussion:

Me: I hardly did anything this week.
Dr X: You made up the schedule and came prepared with another schedule for this week
Me: Well, I haven't even filled the new schedule in yet and I didn't dust, or drop off the laundry, or cook dinners...yadda, yadda, yadda...I am so disgusting. If you saw how messy and dirty my house was you would be disgusted.
Dr. X. I challenge you to take pictures of your messy house and bring them to show me in our next session.
Me: (inside feeling absolutely mortified by the thought of doing that.) There is absolutely no way I could do that.
Dr. X: Why do you say that?
Me: (inside thinking a hugely complex set of ideas...I'm disgusting, it would destroy any semblance of "normality" I have tried to maintain with Dr. X, I would completely destroy any image of "togetherness", or likability I have left with him, etc.) I am afraid you would not like me, or would disrespect me.
Dr. X: Maybe this is an important behavioural exercise. You keep thinking I will not like you for your messy home. Showing me your home and seeing your worst fears be mistaken would be a good exercise.

This is when I began to fear my whole good relationship with Dr. X. was just imagined. I knew nothing about the man except what I see in our sessions. I imagined him having a beautiful and immaculate home. I imagined how disgusting my home would appear to him. I believed if I showed him my home he would be disgusted with me. I believed that I had worked so hard to be "likeable" and pictures of my house would destroy all I had worked so hard for.

It became obvious to me that showing Dr X. my house would lead to him disrespecting me, seeing how truly lazy and unorganized I really was, and that inevitably it would lead to his rejection of me as a person he valued.

I understand that taking the pictures and "joyfully" sharing my messy house with Dr X. could be good behavioural therapy, but what if it backfires and he really is disgusted in me?

Please note: I understand this trust issue is my problem, and that Dr. X. has never indicated in any way that what I fear would take place, but the fear is so powerful I feel sickened that I even tell him this stuff.

I just saw(seconds ago) this very fitting video...

He Lives With Me. Why Can't He Get It?

I feel so angry at my husband right now. Not just my husband, but some of my friends too. The final "straw" that made this camels back break came from comments my husband made last night. While I had been able to let some of our friends comments go, it finally set me off when the person who sees me struggle everyday vocalized the same ignorant beliefs.

We went out last week and when one of our friends asked me how I was doing I told them the truth; that while I was feeling better than I had been I was still struggling with mood swings, fatigue and depression. He proceeded to lecture me on how everyone has mood swings, no one's mood stays the same and everyone gets tired. I hear this kind of response so often that I have really tried to learn to let it go.

I commented that I believed most people did not have the extensive mood swing I had, and that I didn't believe most people struggled with the depth of depression I do and then tried to move the conversation on.

I honestly feel like screaming when someone suggests what I am struggling against is a normal human occurrence. It negates how much pain I feel and the depth of my difficulties. It is dismissive.

I am pretty certain "normal" (I use that word loosely) people do not want to sleep all day, kill themselves on a regular basis, become absolutely exhausted after two or three hours of volunteer work, feel so tired that shopping for food and cooking anything, even Kraft Dinner, seems an impossible task. I am pretty sure most people don't feel so tired they feel sick.

I know when I am well I do not feel like one thing a day: meeting a friend for lunch, painting for a couple hours, or participating in a short class, is the only thing, (besides sleeping and watching t.v.), I can manage that day. I have had periods of "normality" and I had a zest for life, loved cooking, i didn't have time to sleep, because I had too many things I wanted to do.

Anyways...Argh! A few weeks ago a well off friend had made a proposal to my husband to purchase a resort on a remote island and have my husband run it. Part of the proposal was to have me involved working in the restaurant, or something like that. At the time I told my husband it sounded exciting for him, but that given my mental health I was not able to work yet and also, I needed to keep doing the things here that seemed to be helping me (Art, Teaching Art, Participating in the Art Clubhouse etc.). I told him to do it and I would come visit on a regular basis. (It is an 8 month a year operation). He seemed to to be okay with that and to understand.

Last night on the way home from a friends I asked him if the proposal was going through and he said the people who owned it would be willing to pay me more than I receive on disability. I just looked at my husband...Huh?...and explained (why the hell do I have to explain this) I am not on disability because I do not want to work. I am on disability because I am too sick to work. Do you not understand that if I was able to work I would be the first to be out there looking for a job?

I felt angry at our friend too. I felt like they must think I'm simply sitting here watching the money come in when I could be working. I can't even express how angry I felt about that, but especially about my husband thinking the same thing.

He started telling me I would never get well unless I started to work. I think the rage came from within because I struggle so hard with my not working. I looked at my husband and asked him what he saw me able to do during the day. Did he really think I was able to work given my mood lability and my inability to do hardly anything without feeling like I'm going to collapse?

My husband just kept saying if I worked all that would disappear. Fuck! I wanted to kill him (figuratively). He began to blame the whole falling through of the resort deal on me. That if I worked there he would do it, but because I'm making money doing nothing I was not willing to help him. He wasn't going to accept the deal unless I agreed to work there too. So the weight of his future lays in my hands and is suddenly my responsibility.

I live with this man. I expect that he sees how much I struggle. Maybe he is in complete denial that I need the help I receive. He kept saying over and over:

"As long as you receive help from Dr. X, as long as you receive disability money, as long as you get support...you will never get better. I can't wait for the day Dr. X. won't see you anymore. I can't wait for your disability to be cut off. You will never get better until Dr. X kicks you out of therapy. No ones mood is perfect . Everyone's mood goes up and down. You will never have a perfect mood....[etc.]"

I went to bed enraged and so angry that he thinks I'm not trying to get better, and that he thinks the things that help me keep me sick. As I write this I am becoming enraged all over again. I don't even know how to explain to him how his view is mistaken, wrong, dismissive of how hard I try and extremely hurtful. I am so mad I don't even want to talk to him, or be with him anymore.

If he has been with me/lived with me for the last 16 or 17 years and he can't notice this last few years is not me, he obviously pays no attention to how hard I am trying. He obviously is missing the fact that I sleep much of the day, feel depressed much of the time, want to die part of the time still and that I am not ready to work even minimal part-time, let alone full-time, at ANY job.

Hope Does Not Stick Like Glue

Maybe you noticed my mood fluctuates often, maybe you didn't. When I am in a mood state it feels like it will go on forever. It never does. I have glimpses and a teeny bit of insight that maybe I will crash when high, or feeling well. When low I really have a hard time seeing it will ever change.

This morning I replied to "S" that there is hope. A few ays ago I wrote about my new found discovery that hope exists. For some reason this afternoon that all seems to have dissipated.

I feel exhausted. I have a class to teach I am dreading going to. I have slept for the last two hours. Hoping the day would disappear.

Yesterday my Uncle (on my Dad's side) brought the last of my Grandma and Grandpa's friends still alive out to see me. They were my grandparents closest friends and I have fond memories of them. We had a very short, but good visit. It was good to see them, and nice of my Uncle to bring them to my city to see me.

However, as he left he rejected a hug I tried to give him, while U was saying thank you,to him. To top it off his last words to me were, "Don't work too hard".

He knows I am not working. In fact two weeks ago I sort of "came out" to my aunt and uncle about having panic and anxiety problems...though I never mentioned that was why I didn't work. The day before yesterday I told my cousin I had a mental illness and explained a bit more to her.

We had planned for my Cousins and Aunt and Uncle and my G'mas friends to get together, but only my uncle and G'ma's friends showed up. I think it is because they see me as a loser now. I believe my Uncle's comments were meant to hurt me. He is an intelligent man . There is no way he could not have understood that what he was saying was sarcastic, and that I would feel hurt by that.

So right now I feel like a loser for not working. I feel like he saw me as completely able to work; like he was testing my comments that I have a difficult time in big social gatherings, because I declined to go to my cousin's wedding due to my social anxiety.

Yesterday we were at the casino, but it isn't social gatherings where I don't have to interact with a large number of people I fear. It is gatherings where I hardly know anyone and am expected to be social. I'm usually fine with a small group, or somewhere with lots of people where there is no expectation I interact with anyone.

Anyways, maybe there is hope, but it waxes and wanes with both my mood state and my resiliency around rejection and authority figures. I am crying right now. I really hate this illness. I do not want to go to my class. I feal really stressed out about it. So "S" if my note this morning sounded too optimistic...right now I'm taking it back.

Loss

I am at my sister's. She lives about 250 km from me, in the town my Mom used to live in before she died. I used to come to this town all the time, but since Mom died it is almost impossible for me to come here. It feels empty and I feel alone and sad, even when surrounded by the family I love.

Yesterday I drove to the house my Mom used to live in. I haven't been there since she passed away. I pulled over at the side of the road across from her house and sobbed. I am crying right now. The loss of my Mom and how it has affected me is impossible to relay. I loved her more than anything in the world and three years after her death I am still having a really difficult time accepting I will never see her again.

I have been at my sister's for a few days now. I love my sister and her kids so much, but I feel more alone with them, than I do when I am alone at home. We rarely talk about Mom, and I feel like my presence is a reminder to her of our loss, and her presence is a reminder to me of that loss. I just want to go home, but I have to go to a family wedding today.

I am dreading it, in the same way I dreaded that party two weeks ago. I already feel dissociative and I'm not even there yet. I am exhausted and afraid of all the people I will have to be someone else for. All I want to do is go back to bed.

Outside the Circle

I went to a big party on Thursday. First, I hate big gatherings. Something about them always send me into a dissociative state. Actually I know exactly what it is about them that sends me both metaphorically, and in my mind, literally, out of the room during these occasions: Social Anxiety.

If you met me one on one, in person, your first reaction would be that I am outgoing and social, you may even find me interesting, because I keep up on day to day issues, am well read, educated, talkative, a good conversationalist, caring, kind and interested in your stories. You would believe I had the ability to talk to anyone, because I am usually really good at projecting that persona and, to tell you the truth, I usually can talk to anyone for brief periods of time.

I say usually, because often I approach a social gathering and I feel like I am not really there. It feels like I am sitting on the outside looking in. At these times, even when I am talking to someone I get the impression that the conversation could be carried on without me, and that others are being dismissive, or rejecting me, or that I am brutally uninteresting and my conversation skills have disappeared.

At the party the other day the whole time I felt like an outsider looking in. Some of it may have been the people at the party, but most of it was me. It was a birthday party for one of our friends, who happens to be one of the wealthiest people in this city. His house is a 13000 (yes thousand) square foot heritage home on an acre and a half lot in the exclusive area of the city. Our friends are beautiful people. They are involved in tons of charitable work and do so much for so many organizations here. I really care for them and when I am at there house for a small dinner party I always enjoy their company.

Thursday was different. The guest list was filled with some of the most elite, powerful and wealthiest people in the city. And there I was, no job, no money and a chronic mental illness; feeling like the prospects for my future were slim. It is not the lack of money that made me feel like an outsider, but the lack of a life that felt worthy of being there.

I tried to make conversations with numerous people, and of course the first question out of people's mouths is always, "what do you do"? I decided before the party that I was going to say I taught art classes, which is sort of true. I do volunteer to do that 3 hours a week.

So a party goer would start talking to me, ask me what I did. I would say I teach drawing classes. They would then ask where. I was stupidly unprepared for this question, but impulsively decided to tell the truth. "I teach art at a clubhouse for people with mental illnesses". I may as well have said I have a mental illness. The conversations became stilted and always ended abruptly.

One person asked me where I taught classes and I told them. They said "oh I do work for the Boys and Girls club in that area. I asked him what kind of work he did for the club. He looked at me like I was out of my mind to not know who he was and haughtily said, "I don't WORK there, I am on the board of Directors". He then promptly turned away from me and began talking to someone else. After sitting there staring at their backs while they exclude me from their conversation I finally got up and left the area. I felt like a pariah.

So I spent the rest of the party sitting by myself, having anxiety attacks and just waiting until it felt like I had put in a reasonable amount of "face" time. At 10:00 I excused myself, thanked the hosts and got in my car. I burst out into tears. All I ever want is to feel accepted for who I am.

I can't tell you how many times at that party I just got up and went and sat in the bathroom to get away from the feeling that I was a complete outsider; to feel some relief from an intense, shameful shyness and sensitivity that was making it impossible to interact. The more scared and alone I felt, the more I began having dissociation and feelings of depersonalization.

Recurring Nightmare

My latest painting. I have no title yet. It represents a nightmare I have over and over again, where I am being chased through the woods and some kind of post apocolyptic landscape full of broken down buildings and homes, tons of rubble and cement everywhere.

I run, and I run all the while screaming help me, help me! My husband and Dad stand off at the side and watch. No one tries to help me.

Finally, in desperation I climb up onto a big peice of cement to try to save myself, but I fall. The wolf is snarling and on top of me. He is foaming at the mouth and he is about to bite my head or neck and I always wake up at this point absolutely terrified.

When I wake I can't tell if it was a dream, or real. Usually I have to go to the bathroom upon waking, but I am too scared to get out of bed. It usually takes me a couple minutes or more before I calm down, realize it is a dream and am able to climb out of bed.

Invisible

I feel like a slug: a sick slug, a slug more sluggish than a slug. I could barely drag myself out of bed today. Maybe I am sick on top of being depressed, I don't feel physically or mentally well, but I suspect the illness is hypochondriacal and brought on by how depressed I feel.

Yesterday I had intense urges to end it all. I have the means as I have hoarded all my leftover meds and still have all my dogs phenobarbital and heart medication. Despite those intense feelings I managed to stop myself from acting. It is not good for me to be alone when I feel like that. I came so close to taking all those pills and just ending it all.

What stopped me? My family. The thought of my husband having to find me dead was too much responsibility for me to place on his shoulders, so I lay down on the bed and clung to the covers and waited for him to come home. He didn't notice I was unwell, like he never notices I need help. It is like I am invisible to him. That really hurts me.

I feel like that a lot; like I am invisible. It is Mother's day and I really miss my Mom. I never felt invisible with her. Even on Mother's Day she would send me a "Happy Aunty's Day" card. She was so thoughtful that way. Without my Mom, without a job, without kids, without the energy to maintain my household even to minimal standards, without the energy to return calls and e-mails, to meet with friends and keep friendships going, without the energy to be a good wife...I have made myself invisible in this world.

Fatigue and Isolation and Anxiety

All I want to do is hide out and crawl into bed. I feel so tired I feel literally sick. The tiredness is not "sleepy" tired, but rather, "exhausted" tired, like I cannot move and have no energy reserves to do anything. I pushed myself to paint on Monday for an hour or two, but it took every ounce of willpower to do that, Yesterday I went to the Art Clubhouse for a meeting, again only by exerting my will over my desire to hide out at home.

It is strange, I do not want to see, or contact anyone; I am not picking up the phone, or returning calls and I hide behind call display and feel dread at the thought of having to call people back. On the other hand if I push myself out of the house to go to the studio, it is like I get energy from other people. The problem is when the contact is finished I feel even more exhausted than before. It is as though I vicariously absorb all the energy from people around me, but when I touch the door to leave it is really apparent that I have pushed myself to hard to be up and energetic FOR other people. After the interaction I feel even more sickly fatigued.

Today I am forced out of the house as I have committed to volunteer at the studio this afternoon. I know in my role I am expected to be welcoming, available and helpful. All I really want is to stay home, or go there and hide out in my own little world.

Tomorrow is the beginning of the next set of drawing classes I volunteer to teach at the studio. I feel dread about tomorrow. I am really afraid I will not be what people need me to be. I think part of that is because I have no formal art training. I feel like a fraud; someone who got this amazing volunteer position, but really is not qualified to teach what I teach. I am always afraid someone in my class will call me on that and then everyone will make fun of me and than I will die of embarrassment from the ridicule.

Delusions of Being Unloveable or Rejection Sensitivity?

I am not sure if what I experience are delusions, but today I received an e-mail from my sister. She had forwarded a letter from a friend we had in grades 8 and 9. This friend had been trying to contact me for the last two years via e-mail. I simply never returned her e-mails because I feel so ashamed of what I have become.

I felt she would be repulsed by me, like I was completely unlovable and such a loser for being so depressed for so long. I felt she would reject me, or even worse, make fun of me and who I have become. I feel embarrassed for not being able to work. I feel like a loser for never having kids, which I chose because I knew I could barely take care of myself, let alone a beautiful child. I feel like I am a bad person and no one will like me when they find out who I am.

In the letter my sister forwarded to me from our old friend the friend was so kind and empathetic. She said so many kind things about me and our times together. She sounded genuinely sorry that I was struggling so much. I don't really know what to believe about how people will react to me now. Maybe people understand more than I believe they do?

Isolation

Yesterday I managed to get out of the house to meet an acquaintance, M, at a restaurant. When I walked into the restaurant I saw two people who I used to meet for lunch on a weekly basis.

They were friends I had met in a psychodynamic group therapy group a number of years ago. They were people I have been very open with about my ongoing struggle with depression. I felt safe with them as they had both dealt with depression on an ongoing basis as well.

About 3-4 months ago they simply stopped inviting me. I admit that I am not good (read really bad) at initiating any meetings, but I always was excited to meet with both of them. In the weeks just prior to their stopping calling me I was in a severe downward cycle and my pdoc was talking seriously about my being admitted into the hospital.

As the weeks went on I felt they had made a conscious decision not to call me. I recognized that I was so depressed all the time that I burned out the people around me. I cared for them and, in my depressed mind, not calling them was protecting them from me.

Today when I saw them I felt so ashamed and guilty for not calling them. I felt this tremendous sense of responsibility for the friendship having failed. I started to cry when I went up to them to say hello, and I felt so much tension in the air. I thought I was going to be sick.

I want so badly to meet with them again, but I feel so ashamed for being the way I am. My husband yelled at me when I came home and tried to explain what had happened. He said, "You have to stop being so down. You cannot be constantly in a downward spiral"

WTF??? It is as though he believes I could change if I only chose to change. It is how I think everyone sees me and why I think most of my relationships fail. Others believe I am burdensome and I feel that way, so I give up the relationship because I do not want to hurt others.

I feel like that at the Art Clubhouse too. I feel like I'm the only one who never seems to get well. The head OT's telling me I need to change I cannot be crying etc. was akin to my husband telling me to stop being depressed. Now I do not feel safe at the clubhouse to be myself. I feel constantly on edge, afraid I will disappoint. Because of my fear I hold back and keep so many thoughts to myself, because I want to belong, I want to be more supportive and less of a drain on people.

I despise this illness. It has destroyed my sense of self, my sense of self worth, my ability to be resilient and my sense of connection to others. I cannot imagine that I chose to be this way, that I chose a life that makes me want to die every single day I exist.