Why Didn't I...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All Over the Map

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I take too many pills", I protest.

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

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

"These ones are from me", he says.

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

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

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

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

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

Fatigue

Sleep, sleep and more sleep.

I am so tired, fatigued, apathetic and sleepy. All I want to do is sleep.

Sleep to hide.

Sleep to avoid.

Sleep so life goes by faster.

Sleep is that purgatory like state; neither alive or dead, somewhere in between, waiting

I'm so tired I cannot cook.

I am so tired I cannot even plan to cook...or clean, or stay out of my pajamas, or have the desire to do anything.

I am so tired I cannot even eat anything that is not either prepared for me, or comes out of a bag or a can.

I am tired and fatigued, but ironically I cannot sleep half the time.

I dread going out, even though once I am out I am glad I made the effort...like today.

I spend hours dreading my obligations, yet manage when I get out and do them.

I spent $4000 in the last 3 weeks, so I must have done something, yet I cannot remember what.

How do you spend money you do not have on things you do not need, or even remember purchasing? How is that possible?

I just want to sleep.

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.

Two More Paintings Completed

As some of you know I am painting 3; 12"x12" inch paintings for each of my nieces. It is great practice for me and I feel I am learning something about painting each painting I paint.

Each of my nieces chose a topic/topics and a colour theme. Purple and Zebras was the first.

My second niece (8 years old) asked me to paint a seal, a polar bear and a puffer fish and use "aquamarine" as the colour theme...(we are peas in a pod:>)...wish I was 8 again!!

Here are the "seal" and the "polar bear" paintings I finished for her:

I Never Would Have Guessed it, but There is Hope.

I think I am becoming the person who always annoyed me. Let me explain.

It is coming up on the 7th "anniversary" of my having my first scheduled visit with Dr. X. "Officially" this MDE has been 7 years of chronic major depression as of August this year. Unofficially I'd say longer than that. Since at least 1999 I have been almost always depressed except for a one or two months. Before that I have had MDE's continuously off and on since I was 16 or 17. Between some I had one or two years of feeling good, but as the years have gone on there has been shorter and shorter times of feeling well/good between episodes.

This episode has been, by far, the worst. Not necessarily in terms of how bad the symptoms were, because in 1988 or 89 I had a 3 or 4 month depressive episode that was similar in terms of symptoms. It has been the sheer length AND severity of symptoms combined that until recently, completely enveloped me and stole me from my life.

As I approached 1 year in the MDE I couldn't believe the tenacity of my symptoms. Two years and I was completely overwhelmed, hopeless and distraught. Three years and I was certain I was going to kill myself, because I would always feel this way. 4, 5 and 6 years the same thing. Everyday felt like the only thing I could do was survive.

I would become so annoyed, and sometimes to the point of feeling enrage by the comment "Depression is a treatable illness". I felt like: Fuck you it is!! That's bullshit! What about the 10-20% of us who do not seem to respond to medications or other treatments.

No matter what I tried, or how hard I tried to get better, I seemed to sink further and further into the hell that was my depressed life. Honestly, I think the harder I struggled AGAINST it, the worse it got. I would repeat over and over to myself, "I am NOT this person. This is NOT me."

It is. It is me. I have a chronic mental illness. I can try all I want, but I cannot make it go away. That would be like wishing away heart disease, or diabetes, or whatever physical illness you can think of.

People often say "You are not your illness". I always found that trite and unhelpful. When you are depressed you are consumed with your illness. It makes you stop going out, stop eating, or eating to0 much. It jams its way between you and your partner. It takes over your thoughts and replaces them with often obsessive, violent and/or intricately detailed thoughts of exactly how you are going to kill yourself and make your hell end. Depression takes you away from your friends. It turns you into a pariah. It insists you never try anything, because you will fail. It tells you things are hopeless and that you will always feel this way.

When severely depressed you ARE your illness. It chains you to an agonizing life I would not wish on my worst enemy.

So, over the last 7 years I have obsessively read self help books, blogs, and any article I could find anywhere about depression; hoping I would find the secret to getting out of this way of living. I survived only because I had a pdoc who never gave up on me, who never once seemed overwhelmed, or discouraged. I am sure he must have been discouraged with my inability to make progress, or my lack of progress, but not once did he ever let me see that. He always provided(and provides me with hope). I so desperately needed hope, and the more I trusted him, the more I began to believe his hope was realistic.

So now I notice my mood is beginning to lift. Honestly, I am in shock that this is happening. I cannot believe I am changing before my eyes.

That's where I find myself becoming the person who always annoyed me. I am becoming the person that believes either that depression is treatable, or that it is self-limiting and eventually each episode ends. I am beginning to really believe (not just hope) that a combo of medications can be found for even the toughest of depressions. Oh my God....I am actually becoming optimistic...That, I absolutely am astounded by.

I am not well yet. In fact I am not certain I will ever return to the "well" I knew before. I am changed by my experiences with depression and anxiety. I am beginning to believe that, though my life will be different from well, it might be a better life. I cannot explain it, but it is as though the depression informed me, albeit in an extremely roundabout, and horrifying way, that my life needed changing. I'm not sure if the change is helping me, or the medicine, or my therapy. It is probably a combination of all of these.

Whatever it is. I hope it sticks around and I have hope that it will.

Puppies and Behavioural Therapy

Dr. X said something interesting to me in my session yesterday when I was telling him about how my new cute little puppy and I are doing. I was explaining that I was taking a bit of an authoritarian approach with the him (the dog...not Dr.X ;>)

From my perspective it is better, and more manageable, to begin to set clear boundaries and expectations with a puppy who is 22.5 lbs, than to try to get an 80lb dog to change it's behaviour, or do what you want it to do

When I say "authoritarian"...I don't mean my Dad style, scare the crap out of you so you never make a mistake type treatment. That kept me in line while my Dad was watching, or if there was a possibility I would get caught, but left with difficult to control wild streak the second I left home.

With my puppy I am setting clear boundaries and using praise, not punishment, and a few other techniques that really work. I believe in the idea that dogs are pack animals and still maintain many of the behaviours of pack animals. In keeping with that I believe every pack has a leader, its Alpha dog. The job of the Alpha is to protect the pack and ensure it continues to exist and flourish. That's my job

It is up to me to establish my being the Alpha while little puppy is still a little puppy vs. a big dog . I do not want an 80lb boxer trying to become the head of our pack. My husband really should be second in line...but he is not being as consistent as I think he needs to be

Anyways, I have had the puppy a week and he is smart with a streak of stubbornness in him, but here are some tricks I've learned...and it really works. (I got some of these out of the "Puppies for Dummies" book...you know those yellow and black books that teach you all kinds of things. Some of these books are very good (the drawing one is great) and they are easy to read if you have difficulty reading, or with concentration, because you can just read snippets of sections to get really clear ideas. Other things I learned from my Dad when he trained and worked with police dogs

First thing that is going well. I have established a "potty" place and am teaching him to pee/poo on command. He pretty much has it down. I just repeat, go pee, or go poo...and the important thing...do not look at them, ignore them while you say it...as soon as I stopped looking at him ...he began to go. The idea is that an Alpha would not keep looking back on the pack. They LEAD the pack. This idea is great because it is easy to cleanup after the dog

Second thing I have taught him...and he's REALLY good at it, is to heel. I immediately insisted the puppy either walk behind me or directly to the left of me. if he tries to move ahead I just give him a bit of a quick tug, reposition him and walk a bit faster. Within two days he was walking slack leashed beside or behind me MOST of the time...a few little hierarchy takeover attempts, but a polite correction by me and a hug and "good boy" when he gets back into formation and we are off again

The other thing I learned about this behaviour is that if you walk ahead with confidence, even continuing walking if they sit down, they catch up quickly, because they want to be near you...so just keep walking if they stop and they will follow

The coolest thing is that today, because he was so good at heeling I took out my bike and taught him how to run beside me on my bike through the blueberry field. We did a few slowish, short runs, because young puppies shouldn't be exercised to much, but he was awesome at it. We had great fun.

I am teaching him to sit when a car comes in the driveway, and when someone approaches us. Both for the safety of the dog, but also for the people. There is nothing I hate more than an adult dog who jumps up on you when they greet you. 20lb puppy...sort of cute jumping up to say hello...80lb dog doing the same thing a disaster waiting to happen

All the stuff I am teaching him are like games to him. He's sucking it all up like a sponge and loves the attention he gets when he "gets" a command.

Lastly, one of the first things I read was to introduce your puppy to as many sounds: loud, shrill, sharp, annoying etc, as you can before they are 16 weeks. So I have been doing that in the house with the vacuum cleaner, the hairdryer, mixer, etc.

I learned yesterday that if your puppy is scared of a noise, or scared of something the last thing you are supposed to do is bend down, pet the dog, make eye contact and reassure him. (Which is definitely what you have the urge to do...i.e."Oh poor puppy, its okay" ) This places you (in the dogs eyes) in a subordinate position, where now it's his job to protect you. It can lead to a over protective dog, which can lead to aggressive behaviour.

Instead, you are supposed to pull the dog on the lead closer to you. Place the puppy between your legs, hold them slightly tight between your legs (this reassures them that you will protect them...like an Alpha would), stand tall, remain calm and say good boy/girl in a calm, firm voice, while the noise or thing scaring him goes on.

I was skeptical of this one, but today when I took my bike out it needed to be washed (I haven't ridden it in years years..argh! The noise of the power hose spray freaked the puppy out, so I left the hose on, went over to him and put him between my legs, stood tall, no eye contact, acting like the noise was not significant. He immediately sat down. I returned to hosing of my bike and he sat there super calm, no longer afraid of the noise.

It happened again when I took out the air compressor to pump up my tires. I did the same thing and "voila" he could have cared less about the sound after that.

This whole post does actually have something to do with my mood disorder, or at least some of the symptoms and behaviours I have that feed my depression. One of them is difficulty being an authority figure. I am always afraid I will be rejected, or not cared for, or thought as mean, or uncaring. Afraid I will be unloved. This has greatly affected me in the jobs I have had, because each promotion brought on more 'authority" which to be became synonymous with stress and isolation.

The interesting thing Dr. X. pointed out was that this puppy training is great behavioural therapy for me to practice being the authority figure in a way that is loving and respectful, but also ensures I get what I am requesting and still remain cared for.

He's right. In one week I have taught the puppy a lot, but he has taught me that he loves me even more when he knows what is expected of him.

Oh yeah...note to self: the bike ride and running made for a much calmer dog this evening. Keep this up. We both need the exercise.

One of Those Therapy Sessions...

I just got back from one of those therapy sessions that left me feeling cared for, honoured and understood. I went in exhausted...from all that puppy love, but also from a personal situation that has gone in a tough direction.

It doesn't matter what the situation is only that I was able to talk really openly about what I was feeling, and how I was trying to manage the hurt. I asked Dr. X to be really open and honest with me about my communication style. I wanted to hear if I'm doing something wrong.

Often I will ask things like that and I will get positive reinforcement and then I just chalk that positive reinforcement up to his being my pdoc, my therapist, my coach, etc.. I often think he is saying nice things just to help build my self-esteem.

It did not feel like that today. I asked him if he was just saying what he said and, (like always when I ask that question), he said he would tell me the truth and be honest. Usually I am suspicious about this being the case. I never felt that today. I felt like he was a friend willing to tell me both my positive traits, but also my faults, or where I could improve. It felt good to trust.

I now believe he will always be honest. Something about the session today made me BELIEVE that, not just hear it. I like that. I want a straight up relationship. I cannot heal if I fear I am being lied to, either explicitly, or by omission. I cannot change my behaviours if I fear I am being placated, rather than honoured with the truth; even if the truth is difficult to hear.

I need to know myself. Sometimes it takes an other's eyes and ears to help me see that self. I need to understanding clearly, who I am, and how my being the way I am impacts others. I want to improve my communication skills so my social anxiety will lessen. I want to move through this life in in a loving and caring manner, but I also need to learn to say no when I have to in order to care for myself.

Anyways, today was a great session. I feel blessed to be able to continue seeing Dr. X. I hope in my life I can find a job where I am both gifted at what I do and enjoy what I do. From my experiences with Dr. X. I believe he is blessed with those two things. I know that finding a meaningful job, one that I am good at and where I feel can make a difference to someone else, would bring me to that state of being too. I am praying for that day to come. That will be the day I am well.

I Want my Mommy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Slow Pace of Acceptance and Change

I am so tired I feel literally sick, but I cannot sleep. 1:30am wide awake, 2:30, 3:30, 4:30 still wide awake. I started taking a low dose of Trazadone on top of everything else, but it hasn't helped me sleep and makes me feel really awful in the morning. Even more tired than before.

Part of it is the puppy, but I wasn't sleeping even before I knew of or brought the puppy home. Unfortunately, it's not that, "I feel so happy/wired I can't sleep". The kind that happens when my mood shoots up.

No, this sleep is my old, "I have a millions ruminations going through my head and my mind won't shut up, so I can't sleep" insomnia.

Today was my first day teaching a "Teen Group" at the Art Clubhouse. It was during the hours I regularly take a nap 4-6/7. I was so tired, until I began and then my enthusiasm and energy kicked in. Thank god. The class was really good and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. I also have a really great helper...which makes such a difference...YAY!

I see so many improvements in my life over the past few months. Actually, I look back, and even before any medication helped me I now recognize that I have been slowly improving over the past few years. The problem is the lability in my mood is such that when I feel good I feel I will always be perfectly well, but when I crash I feel like I am never going to be well.

I am trying really hard to accept I have a mental illness; to say to myself, "My fatigue is a symptom (of the medicine or the illness...who knows), my memory problems, concentration and word finding problems. my sleeplessness and sleepiness...they are all symptoms. Are these better than wanting to die all the time? Yes.

So life is improving, but I am trying to allow myself to accept that life has changed dramatically for me, and needs to change even more for me to become "well" (whatever that means). I am a different person because of the experiences with depression and anxiety I have gone through over the years. My functioning is different than it was. That is hard to accept.

I truly believe my old life is gone. I think my last wolf dream told me that, but my new life is just beginning and hopefully despite the side effects/residual symptoms it will be a life worth living.

I may fall into a depression again, but I think I have some skills now that I didn't have before, and I have a pdoc I trust and know is right for me. I know he will help me even if I get fully well and become sick later on. I also am working hard at integrating myself into a community that matters to me.

So I'm sickly tired, but I am much better off than I was. My being able to say that proves the point. I think my Mom sent me my new puppy as a symbol of the beginning of my new life. The black wolf killed the old me, and the white dog will protect and help the new me grow.

I say my Mom instigated the change, because my puppy came from a breeder named "Casamoonen". Casa means house...I see the name as "house of the moon". My sisters and I all decided when my mom died she became the moon. (which is full tonight by the way). Every night I step outside and see the moon and say hello to my Mom. My new puppy was sent to me by her. I believe that. He is a messenger sent to help me with my transition into my new life.

It is strange how I get sent all these messages in dreams, in life, in everything around me. Does this happen to others? Do you get sent messages that you feel compelled to heed or follow? It happens too often for me to ignore.

Learning to be a New Mom

I am sorry for the brief absence. I will try to write in the next couple days. My new puppy is a handful and I am working hard at creating a routine that works for both of us. I was in tears yesterday because I am exhausted...not sleeping, trying to keep track of the puppy etc.

I think we are close to getting the house training routine down...so I feel better today. I do not know how anyone brings up a child...a puppy is overwhelming me. I am intent on positive reinforcement, redirecting bad behaviour to something better (i.e chew this toy, not my couch) and never ever punishing my puppy.

I don't know what is going on but recently I am feeling completely re-traumatized by how I was punished as a child. I will never let myself be like my father.

Why do I Have so Much Anger Inside Me?

I was a very rebellious teenager. My Mom used to say I was so angry. I didn't see that. I was just having fun. I began drinking heavily, (binge drinking) every weekend when I was 13. Alcohol soothed my social anxiety and brought all this power I kept hidden from everyone to the surface. It melted away my inhibitions and when I was drinking I felt free. I still feel that way.

Then in high school I lost too many friends to count mostly through them drinking and driving. I had a best friend die from a shotgun wound one night after we had been at a party together. Then, at 17, I was in a really bad car accident. One of my best friends was driving and a drunk driver went through a stop sign at 60MPH (approx 100Km/hr).

My friend ended up in a coma for weeks and had a severe brain injury from the crash. I still hear the sound of a gigantic tin can collapsing and buckling when I think of the crash. Our car bent almost entirely in half from the impact, trapping my friend in the car. I remember the driver of the car that hit us crying over top of me, reeking like alcohol, saying he didn't mean to do it. He was sorry. It was too late for that.

I was in shock, trying o get my friend out of the car, seeing she was barely alive and injured myself, I was frantic. When the police came I just kept saying over and over again, " I want my Dad, get me my Dad". Who is your Dad?, the police officer asked. Staff Sgt. X I replied. He looked sad, scared and shocked at the reply. It is strange how my Dad was the one who hurt me the most, but he was the only one I knew would protect me too.

I do not understand that dynamic. How can someone be both the terrorizer and the protector? The dismissive bully much of the time, but the one I turned too when I was really in trouble?

The ambulance came and I was still hysterical, because my friend was still trapped in the car. I didn't know if she was alive and no one would tell me anything. They strapped me into the ambulance gurney and at that moment I think I heard God say everything would be alright. I was sure it was God, and I calmed down immediately. I still wonder if I halucinated God.

I suppose "alright" is a relative term. My friend survived the crash and came out of her coma, but she was a completely different person. She began having massive mood swings and personality changes from the trauma to her brain. She was never able to graduate high school, or work again. That accident changed me in a way that is difficult to explain.

I think it was the culmination of so much loss over a short period of time; 3 friends dying in a car crash, a best friend shot and killed and then another best friend changed by less than a second of poor driver judgement. I became angrier, wilder, took risks that I would never have done prior to those things happening. Then my Dad left my Mom and I lost it.

That is when rage set in. I was enraged, not by his leaving, but by his untruthfulness and his unwillingness to explain himself to his family. I was enraged that he could just leave us so easily without an explanation. How could he be a family member for so long and then suddenly decide not to be without any acknowledgement as to what the rest of the family felt about it?

That was all a long time ago. I don't know why I still feel so much anger. I have been trying to think all day about why I become so angry now, as an adult. I feel hurt and annoyed by somethings my Dad foes now...but mostly we are seperate people living seperate lives. I will never be close to him. I get that, but something insde me wants so bad to have him say he loves me and cares about me. I feel angry that will never happen.

I realize today that all my anger comes from expectations. I expected more of myself in life, more of my Dad, more out of life. I didn't expect to be stopped in my career tracks by this illness, or end up on disability, or afraid of my own shadow. I always expected I would be strong and powerful. I expected to be good at what I did.

Buddhism talks about letting go of expectations, wants, desires. In letting go of these our anger should melt. I am not a material person. I do not need much, but I still believe if I care for, respect and love others, as a human being I deserve to be cared for and respected and loved in return.

Today I was thinking I need to learn that life is not fair, that bad things happen to you, even if you are a good person and that all those stupid platitudes, like the harder you work the better off you will be, or the more you give, the more you get, were written by people who were probably just as worried as me about ending up nowhere an nobody in life. That is really scary.

Please Welcome My Newest Family Member

Ladies and Gentlemen,
Please welcome the newest member of my family into our community:

...drum roll please...
My new puppy is 12 weeks old and he is at my sister's now. She says he is a great puppy; calm, sweet and well behaved (we will see how long that lasts!!). My nieces have been walking him around on a leash, He slept through the night. Wow this might be easier than I thought??? (Probably not!) I pick him up on Tuesday.

Please welcome my adorable puppy into my community of friends.

Wolves Move Aside...You have Competition

I hope I am ready for this. Some of you may know that in March my much loved family member and white boxer dog, Bert passed away. He had been my Mom's dog and I adopted him when my Mom passed away.

On Thursday night, for some reason, I tucked the box filled with Bert's ashes into bed with me. I miss him so much. The next day, on Friday night my sister phoned and said here was a male white boxer puppy for sale by her house. I called and today my sister picked up my new family member; a 12 week old purebred white boxer with black freckles on his pink belly and a few in his ears. I am going up to my sister's on Tuesday/Wednesday to pick him up.

It seems like messages were sent to me on Thursday, I needed an new loving companion. I was meant to have this puppy. My sister says he is adorable, beautiful, very mellow and well mannered already. I can't believe I'm doing this. I knew I wanted a boxer, but I have been trying to find an adult to adopt.

I'm a new Mom!!!! I am so excited. As soon as I get home I will post a picture of him. I hope I have the energy and patience for training such an energetic dog...I'm pretty sure I do.

Okay... I AM angry.

There. I said it. I AM ANGRY! In fact I am so angry I am afraid of it. Dr. X. likens it to a wolf. He says I know the anger of the wolf. I have even been involved in trying to stop an attack by two dogs who were part wolf.

Problem is, during that attack there was nothing I could do. the vicious attack proceeded no matter how hard I tried to stop them from killing my sister's dog.

You can beat the wolf, scream at it, throw massive rocks at its head, but a raging wolf, a wolf that is purely thinking with its evolutionary brain will never stop attacking once the pack mentality sets in. I literally tried to beat the wolf-dogs with giant sticks...over and over and over. Nothing stops a wolf attack once it has begun.

Before I experienced that I always thought I could protect myself from a dog or large animal attack. I better understand that no matter that I am bigger or even stronger, than the attacking animal, if they are intent on a kill I am helpless. They have the evolutionary advantage. They know what to lunge for, how to corner their prey, and how to cut off any means of escape. That is what wolves do.

In actuality, I love wolves. I don't think I would be afraid of one if I saw it in the woods. I suspect they wold be more afraid of me. It is the wolves in my head I am afraid of. The relentless, angry wolves that I try so hard to hold back. I am afraid I have my Dad's rage in me. The rage comes from a sense of helplessness and loss of control.

When I was young and my Dad would hit me, or belittle me, or dismiss me, if it had been relentless over a short period of time I would become enraged inside. I absolutely could not become enraged at my Dad. He would have hurt me even more. He used to say he'd stop hitting me as soon as I stopped crying.

So I would leave go to my room and bang my head against the wall as hard as I could...over and over and over. I was so angry with myself for not standing up to my Dad, for not calling him on his bullying behaviour, for not being able to stop him. I couldn't rebuke him, so I punished myself for not standing up to him.

I am embarrassed to say I still do that sometimes when I feel raging angry, helpless and without control. The problem is now I have added suicidal thoughts and plans to the punishment regiment.

When I was a kid hitting my head against the wall, finally I would stop crying, because the physical pain overpowered the emotional pain. I think that is what happens now when I begin to obsessively think of suicide when I am enraged. The thoughts are so violent, like banging my head, that they actually calm me down. I don't want to die, I just want the pain to be over.

Anger

Warning: Violent suicidal imagery: may trigger (Please read this first)

I saw Dr. X this morning. I really needed someone to talk to. Until a few days ago I was feeling really good. I felt on track, I was feeling confident I could accept the chronicity and cycling of my mood disorder. I was feeling like I was on the right path, and then something happened.

Something happened that at first made me really irritated and annoyed, and then as I thought more about it I became enraged at how I felt I was treated, and am periodically treated by someone I care deeply for.

Anyways, it doesn't matter what the thing that happened was. What happened was how I later reacted to it. My rage grew so big that I began having suicidal thoughts; violent rage-filled suicidal thoughts. I began thinking of stabbing myself in the chest over and over again so the anger would end, of beating my head until it stopped, of hanging myself, of shooting myself in the head to stop the rage.

Dr. X. and I talked about why I was having such violent thoughts.

1. First, they were just thoughts. I had no plans to do any of those things. I just couldn't get the thoughts out of my head. So they were obsessive thoughts, thoughts invading my mind.


2. Second, they all seemed to be about my finding the fastest way to get rid of my anger. All of the "ways" of committing suicide that invaded my head would result in fairly instant death...and a complete end to the anger.


3. Third, I think they were akin to "cutting"...the more the thoughts came the more calm I became. It was like the thoughts themselves were like my cutting myself to get rid of the pain.

Dr. X was pretty straight forward (well sort of) today about how much anger I have inside me. He seemed to be trying to say it in a roundabout way, so I am not 100% sure what he was saying, but I think he was saying anger is a big part of my depression. We have talked a lot about the anger inside me throughout the years, but I don't think he's ever really said that to me before.

Other therapists have told me my depression is anger turned inwards. I agree I do have some of that happening...but that is too simplistic. I think Dr. X's approach is less dogmatic than that. He recognises there are definitely some biological and genetic components to my depression and that the environmental/psychosocial components are more complex than that. Plus, I am not always angry...but I am usually depressed.

I wish Dr. X would say exactly what he is thinking sometimes, instead of "couching" information in mysterious ways. I think he was saying I need to address my anger. I agree I do feel angry about some things. I told him I am angry my Mom died, I am angry my Dad is an ass, I am angry I lost my job to depression, I am angry I have been anxious and depressed for so long. Who wouldn't be?

I don't think I am usually angry though. In fact, I rarely express anger towards other people. (Maybe my husband...poor guy he gets the brunt of it...but not for no reason most of the time). I am not a confrontational person, generally I am diplomatic and I always am respectful to others even if I am mad at them. For example, I have never ever been disrespectful towards my father, no matter how much he irritates me. He is still my father and I respect that.

I think when I feel well I am not angry. Dr. X says I am a bit wild, suggesting maybe I am feel pent up and that is causing me to be angry.

I do often feel like I am held back, or hold myself back, or pent up; kind of like a Mustang used to running free, who suddenly becomes bridled, broken and locked up in a corral. My corral is my anxiety, that stops me from working towards my dreams (actually it stops me from even dreaming about what I could do) and what I really want to do. The other "corral" is my depression that makes me feel less than capable, or helpless, or that change and choice is hopeless in my situation.

I think I am working hard and making huge strides towards changing and working through and with my depression and anxiety. I am trying so hard to change. I am not sure how to address my anger in a constructive way. I don't want to be mad at people, or get angry when it is not reasonable.

Plus, in the initial situation I alluded to ANYONE would have become angry. I managed to stay calm during the incident. It was only afterwards that I became angry that I allowed myself to get caught in a situation like that. That was when I got angry. I got angry because I felt both taken advantage of, disrespected and treated like my caring about someone was a bad thing.

I think I will need to address anger again in my session next week, because other than me somehow getting my anger out of me, I'm not really sure what Dr. X was trying to tell me.

Raging

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I feel like I am going to explode. I am so angry, hurt and RAGING MAD at the way I am treated by people I love!

Creating a Community For Myself: Part 2

My last post about this topic was a bit long winded...so here is a brief overview of both why I think all I said needed to be said, and the major points that I found important for myself (and I hope for others) while I was writing the piece.

There are so many aspects of "creating a community" that are helping me and, I think can help others who are having difficulty with their mental illness, gain some hope. I think some of the most important points in the previous post "Creating a Community for Myself: My Path towards Resiliency" are:

1. That my illness has been refractory to all treatments and has been severe (I hope that will help others in similar situations see it is possible to begin the healing process, even if other treatments aren't working). It is not as though I had/have an easy illness to treat or help. I know when I was/am really ill I get really annoyed when people, whose illnesses seemed less aggressive than mine, wrote uplifting pieces about how they "healed" themselves. I never felt they spoke to me. I wanted others to see it is possible to really be struggling with symptoms and, with enough of the right support and structures in place, still manage to help themselves.

2. That I had to try many things and make many attempts before I began to feel comfortable and confident. Creating a community has not been easy and has been fraught with setbacks...but with the support of my psychiatrist, and finally the community I fit into, I have been able to keep trying.

3. That external motivation was one of the most important forces that helped me succeed. I didn't succeed because of will power. I succeeded because I had responsibilities, schedules, expectations and tons and tons of non-judgemental support , from my pdoc, my new found community, the Occupational Therapist who believed in me and took me on as an apprentice.

4. That there is a sense of spiritual connection and personal feelings of being valued that helps one begin the healing process when they find, accept , create and become involved in, the community that is right for them.

I am not saying this discovery has "cured me", or "healed me"...but it is definitely increasing my quality of life and my ability, and desire to live with, and in spite of, my mental illness and its disabling symptoms.

Creating a Community for Myself: My Path Towards Resiliency

This is a long post. I was asked by someone at one of the Mental Health Teams in my city to write about my experiences with creating a community for myself and how it has helped my mental health. They want to share it with people they are trying to help. I thought I'd share it with you.

Creating a Community for Myself: My Path Towards Resiliency

Social isolation has been one of the most difficult symptoms of my depression for me to overcome. When well I am open, bubbly, extremely extroverted, trusting and want to be around people. When I am in a Major Depressive Episode (MDE) I turn inwards and isolate myself from the world, even from close friends and family. Seemingly simple social tasks, like answering the phone, or returning e-mails, become experiences that fill me with dread.

My illness presents itself as Major Depressive Disorder: an illness that consists of "episodes" of Major Depression, usually followed by periods of wellness. My depression is anxious and there is a component of "bipolarity" to it; meaning my mood cycles between severe lows and extreme highs. Both these symptoms make my depression more difficult to treat.

My most recent MDE has been treatment resistant, or "refractory" to medications and other treatments for 7 years. This means despite my trying literally more than 30 different medications and combinations of those medications, having ECT and participating fully in psychotherapy once, and for long periods, twice a week, I remained severely depressed and anxious, while periodically cycling up close to hypomania for a few days for most of this entire 7 year period.

With my depressive symptoms refusing to budge with medication, my psychiatrist and I work in therapy to help me in other ways. One of the major areas I have been working on in therapy is lessening my social isolation, and increasing meaning and purpose in my life by "creating a community for myself". This is a very difficult endeavor because my symptoms: Depression, Social Anxiety, Isolation, Amotivation, Fatigue Concentration and Memory Problems and Cycling Moods, work against my ability to help myself change, meet people, keep social commitments and often do anything beyond survive. Even that seems hard sometimes.

The process of change and creating a sense of shared meaning and community with others has been very slow and has never followed a direct upward trajectory towards wellness. I move forward, only to have my symptoms drag me backwards again. It has been a one step forward two steps back experience. I am, however, moving forward slowly. I do see this improvement. Before I just kept going two steps back over and over again.

When my psychiatrist first introduced the idea of creating a community for myself, a community that would help me become more resilient, that would accept me for who I was, that would add meaning to my life, that would help me move out of my isolation and into a world that both interested and supported me, I thought he was the crazy one. I felt so depressed and anxious, and I was so isolated; literally laying on the couch, or hiding in my bed all day. The task seemed impossible. How did he think I was going to manage such a difficult task?

I started safe and small. I was afraid to be around people, so I thought maybe being around animals would help. I began walking dogs for the SPCA. It got me out of the house. That was a big step.

Then a year or so later I began volunteering for [an arts festival in my city ]. To volunteer I needed to write my resume and go for an interview. I was absolutely terrified, but I pushed myself to do it with the help and support of my psychiatrist and with the belief that I might find a community that interested me.

I was very sick at the time and switching medications periodically. I was so scared each day I was scheduled to volunteer, sometimes even for days before my scheduled volunteer day, but each time I went I was greeted by my co-workers and my supervisor, people did not seem to notice I was sick, even if I thought I was not doing a good job I seemed to manage the tasks, the people I volunteered with were very nice. Each day I volunteered I gained a bit more confidence in my abilities. My second year with The festival I became so depressed I could not continue volunteering. To take care of myself I gave notice and stepped back from my commitments. This was a setback, but not a failure.

A few years prior I had become a member of a therapeutic art clubhouse that offered art classes to people with mental illnesses. The first class I took was Beginner's Drawing. I remember being so anxious about going to the classes. I was afraid I would be rejected, or not fit in, or be so bad at drawing I would be humiliated by my failures.

The instructor allowed me to be whoever, and however, I was on any given day. By the end of the 10 classes I felt a sense of community with the instructor and the people in the class. Motivating myself to reach out to other human beings and to leave my house and participate in a community was a huge step for me.

Still very ill, I took a Pottery class at the Clubhouse and then an Intermediate Drawing class. Each time I had to go to class I would feel sick and anxious. There were days when I really have no idea how I managed to get there. I believe my commitment to joining and participating in each class, having a scheduled and structured activities for myself and my psychiatrist's support, provided me with enough external motivation to go to each class.

It was not easy. I was always so anxious before I went to each class. Usually that anxiety stuck around for the first hour of the class, however often it never left me the entire class. It was hard to stay, but with the supportive environment and the support of my psychiatrist I forced myself to stick with my commitments. As each class went on I became more and more comfortable with the environment and with the people around me. Showing up to these classes was like behavioural therapy: A type of therapy that desensitizes a person to things they fear by slowly introducing them to the thing or things they are afraid of, until finally they become no longer afraid of the thing they fear.

My experiences at the [Art Clubhouse] awakened the slumbering artist inside me. I had never been artistic. In fact, drawing stick figures was the extent of my experience with the fine arts. I had always loved art; other people's art, but never believed it was possible for me to learn what I loved. With the [Art Clubhouse] experiences and successes to back me up I took a huge step from the Art Studios and decided to try an Adult Education class at [a local Art College]. It was a difficult, but rewarding experiences and my love for drawing began to grow.

Driven by my new found joy of art I began volunteering at the [Art Clubhouse]. I participated in cleanup days, and showed up for their monthly meetings. I began to meet more people in that community. The more I participated in the community the more it began to feel like an even safer and welcoming community. I had discovered a group of peers who not only shared my love for art, but who also understood and accepted me for who I was.

One day I saw a posting for an assistant to the printmaking instructor. I took another large leap and applied for the position. I cannot even express how difficult this was for me. I was very depressed at the time and cycling rapidly between severe and anxious depression and a sense of euphoria brought on by my new found feelings of social freedom and a sense of meaning and purpose I had not felt in a long time. After being the Printmaking Assistant I applied to be the Beginner's Drawing instructor's assistant. Each time I assisted the instructor my anxiety became less and less and my comfort level, and my enjoyment the studio's community improved more and more.

I now volunteer to teach Art classes. I teach Beginner's Drawing, and have taught a short Printmaking group for young adults. I am about to teach my third session of Beginner's Drawing classes and a session for young adults in drawing, printmaking and painting. Even better than this I have discovered I have both a love and a developing talent for acrylic painting. To top it all off I have somewhere to go to share this joy with and even more important, I now interact regularly with people who support my artistic endeavours.

Through a supportive and caring community I have discovered meaning and purpose in my life. I am becoming the person I always wanted to be. Never in my life have I felt like I was on the right path. I feel like that now and this feeling has healing power. My experiences at the [Art Clubhouse] have opened a world for me I never knew existed. This community has lifted me out of isolation and is moving me closer in my quest towards healing my soul. I cannot say enough how important creating a community for myself is contributing towards my climb out of depression and towards resilience and increased wellness.

Is Public Privacy Possible?

Last session I managed to tell Dr. X. most of the things about my obsessive thoughts. It was extremely difficult, because he was the source and the subject of my thoughts. I was looking at my stats and saw that he had visited my blog a few times and looked and numerous sections (labels) in my blog. I became scared he would feel I was disrespectful to towards him in some of my posts.

Despite my earlier offer this year to let him read my blog, when he did I became scared I had disregarded that there are two of us involved in my therapy, and that I was too open about who I see him as, and how he and I interact. I was fearful that my blog crossed some boundary; that I exposed him more than I it was right for me to do. I could not stop worrying that I had destroyed our relationship.

He assured me I was always respectful; that that was part of my personality. I still feel unsure about whether I cross Dr./Patient boundaries in my blog posts. I feel my blog is immensely helpful to my mental health, but I also want to ensure I respect other people's privacy. I worry that he was just saying that to make me feel better. That is a problem for me, not trusting that people are saying exactly what they mean, that they are not placating me, rather than having an honest conversation with me.

I use my blog to augment my therapy with Dr. X. I have mentioned before that often it acts as a preparation tool. A sort of 'practice run' for the next therapy session I am going to (or sometimes that preparation takes place over and over, until I am able to say what I need to say). I also use my blog to debrief myself after a session.

I often wonder how much of my session I remember "correctly". I remember reading Irvin Yalom's "Every Day Gets a Little Closer: A Twice Told Therapy. In the book he recounts how he and a client wrote about each therapy session and then exchanged notes. In particular he was astounded by how different he and the patient saw the session. Things he felt were really important, the patient either ignored, or glanced over. Much of what the patient found helpful was the relationship between herself and her pdoc.

In my sessions I am often so emotional I cannot think straight. Writing reinforces things Dr. X and I discussed. There can sometimes be problems for me though, when I misread something in my session, or if my symptoms are bad and I am feeling 'paranoid'.

I place the word paranoid in quotations, because I am never sure if I am paranoid, or if what I sense, see, hear really happens. I really feel I have a gift/curse for picking up on small vocal cues and sounds, details, messages and body language that others miss, or do not recognize they are showing. My theory is that because my father was so unpredictable in his rage I learned to sense infinitesimally small cues and changes in his behaviour to prepare myself for the flight/fight/freeze response before things happened.

Something that might support this theory is when, in first year university, I volunteered for a study that was measuring the relationship between hearing and depression. I was extremely depressed at the time. They put me through a flurry of hearing tests and seemed to be astounded at what I could hear. They told me I could hear sounds in ranges that people were not supposed to be able to hear.

Anyways...back to Dr. X's privacy. I again want to assure my readers that I respect your privacy. Dr. X seemed surprised I knew he had visited. The only way I knew it was Dr. X. (or was pretty sure) it was him, (a particular person) was because of his particular server. It had shown up before when he looked at some of my paintings in a session.

You will notice I have two statistics sites,"Sitemeter" and "Statcounter". on my blog. One gives me information about numbers of visitors, where they come from (cities and countries, and how long they visit my site(these are not accurate and usually show as 0) . Sitemeter also tells me how people got to my blog, (e.g. what they googled to get here).

Statcounter provides a bit more information about which pages people viewed and things like that. In Sitemeter it supposedly shows the latitude and longitude of visitors, but please know that it is not accurate in terms of where people live. I was very concerned when I first signed up for it as it appeared anyone with Sitemeter could track the address of my IP.

Rest assured, I checked it out and that is not the case. For instance anyone who posts from Vancouver shows as living at one particular address, on the same street. I have tested this out with a couple friends, and even people I do not know who show up have the same Lat/Long...so it is NOT GPS co-ordinates. In fact, my Lat/Long shows I live in the middle of the Fraser River miles from my house.

I have these stats counters on my site because I am an info junky. I find it interesting to see people from all over the world vi sting, to see how many people visit, because I want to know if I am keeping people's interest, or posting about things that people are interested in. My blog is about my therapy, but I also want to make it relevant to others.

If you have any questions about your privacy and these two statistics programs, please ask me, or add them to your own site and see for yourself what they provide. I believe if you click on their icon (at the bottom right of my blog) you can read more info about them.

Confession

The Confession (Dicksee 1896)

I am not Catholic, but was brought up Anglican; which is close enough. The two churches' teachings are pretty similar except where it comes to divorce and birth control (and of course we have no Pope, the Queen is head of our church).

While I no longer practice my childhood religion I somehow feel deeply tied to the church and its rituals. It is very strange, because I do not even believe in God, but there is a peacefulness about walking into a church that is only rivalled when I step into Dr. X's office.

The other area the Anglican Church differs from the Catholic is the practice of confession. I have often wondered how freeing a regular, completely anonymous confession, the penance given afterwards, and the simple act of being told you are forgiven must be deeply satisfying and soul refreshing.

I suppose therapy is supposed to be like that, but there are always secrets and fears of what will happen if you open yourself up completely and 100% honestly to your therapist or psychiatrist. Fears about how the other will react, how their reaction will affect your relationship, how, even if there is no outward reaction, a seed of discontent, distrust, or even anger will be planted. The fear that some of those seeds will grow into plants, and the plants will give rise to more plants that negatively impact the therapeutic relationship.

I try extremely hard to allow myself to open up fully to Dr. X. in therapy. The day I met him I sensed immediately he was a person I could talk to. Which was strange as I had so many "man" issues I never really felt safe around men. I think I was extremely open with him during my first interview. Some people entice me to be open, but I am also a fairly open and participative person. A little too much so sometimes. By the time I met Dr. X. I had been in and out of therapy so many times that I understood I needed to let go of my fear of being judged and get everything out of my head in order to receive the help I needed.

There are things though, that I cannot seem to get out, cannot seem to say, to Dr. X, or on my blog, or to anyone. Probably important things, but shame, guilt and fear holds me back. I feel ashamed about things I do, or feel, and the words to explain these will simply not come out, no matter how hard I try to get them out. I think over and over that I should talk about these things, but it is as though I am physically mute, unable to speak about certain things I do or feel.

Often this fear of embarrassment, or abandonment, or punishment holds me back for months, or sometimes years, before I can finally tell him what I want to tell him. Every time I have done that he has reacted in an accepting and positive way. So why do I still find it hard to talk about some things?

I remember reading about this psychotherapeutic phenomenon in Irvin Yalom's, "Existential Psychotherapy". (A book that feels like it was written for me). He gave an example of a patient being terrified to talk about something, Eventually the patient managed to write it down on a piece of paper. When The Dr. read the note it said something like "I pick my nose". Hardly earth shattering, or shameful, yet to the patient, based both on his inability to say what he did, and the lengths to which he avoided saying what he did, it was both of these and more.

I believe my "secrets" are held private for a variety of reasons. One problem is some things I do or feel or sense seem so bizarre that I do not even understand why I do, feel or sense them. It is like someone completely different from the real me is rallying my thoughts and obsessively dragging me into doing things. I worry they will only be proof that I am a bad or extremely weird person. They are not even really earth shattering things, nothing illegal, but I am so afraid if I talk I will be rejected, or seen in a completely different light, no longer cared for, or thought to be crazier than I already am. I know I am being a bit cryptic, but I am trying to prepare myself to get things out of me and this is one small step towards really opening up completely.

Therapy is not like confession. It is not anonymous. The confessor knows their "confessee". The relationship is intensely important to the confessor. There is always a sense of potential instability or loss; a "contrived"genuineness (e.g. What therapist is going to say..."That is the absolute, most bizarre thing I have ever heard?...even if it was?); and an unsureness of the strength of the relationship, in part because while the therapist may love their job and like their patients, therapy is, after all, a financial transaction on the part of the therapist. The therapists are never (I don't think), or can never be as invested in therapy as the patient. The therapist has many patients, but the patient only one therapist.

For the patient there is more at risk in therapy than in confession. We, the patient and the therapist, are mere humans. Thetherapist can say everything is okay; that my thoughts and actions are normal, or symptomatic of my illness, but they may not really believe that to be the case. God, if he exists, is capable of forgiving anything. Pdocs and therapists are mere mortals. People whose feelings get hurt, who reflexively react to some information, who have fears and and joys and belief systems that may or may not conflict with their patients ideas. For me it is sometimes hardest to explain things to people who are most important to me.

Anxiety and Obsessions

The past few weeks I would say overall my mood has been better, although it's lability is still showing. I always am feeling bad in the morning and then better midday, and then I get exhausted around 4-5pm, have a long nap...or just laying down from exhaustion (1-3 hours) and feel a bit revived.

The problem is my anxiety is getting worse, and worse, and worse. I am not sleeping as well and I have a weird sensation inside me that I can only describe as an obsession. I have increased my valium, but it is not helping.

Do you remember when you were young (a teenager) and you fell inexplicably and madly in love with someone and you could not stop thinking about that person. Do you remember the feelings that seemed like a mixture of intense energy inside you that was off the charts, anxiety, a sense that you were helpless in terms of your obsession, feelings that were out of your control, strange and made no sense. Am I making any sense?

I am having problems with those types of feelings right now. Not really directed at a person, rather directed at a fear I have hurt someone, or exposed someone, or been selfish and caused someone else to worry, or feel bad. I feel sick that I might have said things I did not mean to say, or opened up and this person may have misunderstood what I actually meant to say (vs. their understanding what I said)

I feel that same sick feeling I did when I was young and cheated on someone, or did some foolish thing without thinking of the consequences of my actions. The feelings of regret I felt after the fallout of an intense upswing in mood, and my inability to set boundaries for myself had me doing things that destroyed a relationship.

This post may not make any sense, but I needed to get out all these guilty feelings...because they are eating me up inside. I suspect some of my increase in anxiety this week is driven by these obsessive feelings of guilt and betrayal; feeling that I have been disloyal. Not all of the anxiety is related to this though, as those feelings have been clearly increasing over the past 4-5 weeks. I sort of see it is possible the anxiety is feeding the obsessive worrying and guilty feelings; making me worry excessively about things.

Rethinking Wednesday's Session

I am not sure what was up with me Wednesday. I entered my session feeling despondent and down about not being able to hang onto the feelings I had a few days prior about being ABLE to change my life, being EXHORTED by my dream to change my life, feeling SURE the switch had finally flipped and I was magically better.

I recognize today, there is no "switch"...it is more like a light dimmer that I need to turn up very slowly to bring more light into my life. The switch is what I don't want or need. It represents the endless cycling mood states I need to get out of.

I was rereading some of my posts, and I recognize that I do have a lot of cycling to my moods. I also understand what Dr. X. meant on Wednesday when he said he worries my higher moods, in conjunction with less sleep, might be unsustainable. I see it, but I wish they were sustainable. Problem is the higher I go, the more likely I am to crash afterwards.

I also see that when my mood is high, it is generally not a bad thing...I don't go off and buy houses, or gamble my life savings away, or cheat on my husband, or do anything that is potentially harmful to me or anyone else.

In fact, that state is a state of freedom for me; freedom from social anxiety, depression, anger, freedom from all the symptoms that haunt me when I am depressed. I also do not lose my insight into my mood state. I can tell when my mood is high. My high mood is really high, but not pathological in any way.

I don't know what it is, but I am often afraid people are lying to me, or hiding things from, or keeping things from me, or spying on me, or have some secret agenda that they don't want me to know about. I think my concerns about my "real" diagnosis being withheld from me fall into that category.

Dr. X. has told me there is a "bipolarity" to my depression. We have also talked about the tendencies in my family, especially on my paternal side, towards hyperthymic temperaments; how my well might be higher than many people's well. It really does describe me perfectly.

I think I was being weird when I got all concerned about having bipolar disorder and not being told about it. Part of my worry stems from the fact that my cousin has Bipolar Disorder, and though undiagnosed, my Uncle had all the symptoms of it as well.

So I worry I am headed that way. The only way I can see it sometimes becomes a problem is for others in my way when I am really hyper. I know I sometimes overwhelm others. Also, I do worry that my high mood will become so high I won't be able to control myself. I think that worry stems from some of the wild, and stupid things I did when I was younger when I was high.

When high I absolutely could not say no to anything...which frightens me now. What if I go high and cheat on my husband, or cannot control my sexuality, or take off with some stranger. I did do those things when high before. I worry I am capable of that again.

Why does it really matter to me one way or the other. If my treatments are helping me, if the mood stabilizers have slowed the cycling (or at least made it less drastic), if I have a really great therapeutic alliance with Dr. X. who really cares what my diagnosis is. Plus, why would Dr. X. not tell me the truth? In my experience he has always been forthright, open and honest about everything during my treatment.

I think part of the difficulty is that I see things in black and white. Grey areas are difficult for me to understand, to conceptualize. I am the product of a very black and white upbringing. My home was very top down authoritarian. My Dad being a policemen lived by very strict rules/laws. I like to think I am open minded and able to understand life is not so simplistic, but some of my belief systems are so hard wired in me it is difficult to change, grow, and understand concepts that sit outside of strictly laid out guidelines and rules.

It is really funny though:

...what I love most about my therapy with Dr. X, and Dr. X. himself, is his refusal to see things from a dogmatic perspective. I love that he challenges the status quo. He feels like the perfect role model for me; the person who is best able to challenge my strict adherence to rules, the person most capable of helping me learn to both see, and accept that life, like a beautiful drawing, is full of many, many shades of grey.

Getting Back on Track

The post I wrote yesterday turned into a completely different post than I originally set out to write. That happens to me sometimes. I start writing and find I have 2 or three themes going on in one post. Often I split them into separate posts.

What I set out to write about was about my life's new "Constitution" as laid out in my post last week: "Today is My New Birthday". I woke that morning and it became so clear my dream "The Wolf Returns" was passing me important, life enhancing and life changing messages.

It has happened before: my dreams sending me messages. In 2003 I had a dream: "Transformational Dreams" that compelled me to finally leave work after trying to allow myself to take that step for more than a year. Three weeks after my "Transformational Dream" I left work. Most of my leaving was because Dr. X and I had worked hard on my believing I needed to leave to help myself, but the dream passed a message to me that felt urgent, life changing and intensely important.

The dream, "The Wolf Returns" felt full of that same intensity. I feel compelled to heed its messages. So a couple days later it became clear to me the dream was exhorting me to reset my values, my life's "Constitution" and to take care of myself in a way I have never been able to.

So I boldly laid out my plans for the new me in my blog.

The next day I crashed. I felt intensely embarrassed that I had been so brazen as to commit, not only to myself, but to anyone reading my blog, that I was a suddenly changed human being. So the next day, and the day after that I pretended I still felt as brave. Inside I was so depressed and had slipped right back into the old me.

I spoke with Dr. X about this. He told me if a country has no written Constitution, no written values and goals, it is easy for the people to slip outside the informal values of the country. A written constitution sets out formal goals, a formal structure for the way the country wants to be, the goals towards which the country and its citizens want to work towards.

A written constitution does not mean the country will immediately achieve the desired way of being, or that it will always stick within it's written goals. It takes time, mistakes and practice to follow a formal constitution.

My set out goals and values are like that. Change takes time and practice. Moving in the direction you want is not always simple, and you will slip and fall back into old ways of being. Things will happen that get in your way, that cause you to return to old way. It is important to have your goals clearly set out in front of you, so you can get back on track.

I felt so much better after he said that. I left my appointment feeling like, "okay I slipped, but I can work to get back to where I was when I wrote my values statement". I feel really blessed I have the pdoc I do. Every week I feel I can get to my appointment. If I can get to my appointment I have someone to help me get back on track. That is a great feeling.

Does Diagnosis matter?

This post is partially inspired by Sara at "My Sad Alter Ego". Her post "How I cured my Personality Disorder Without Even Trying" started out tongue in cheek (although I sense she also feels she is misdiagnosed)...She Starts, "Quit going to a psychiatrist! And voila: Borderline-be-gone!(Yuk yuk)"

(please Sara correct me if I'm wrong about your feeling you have been misdiagnosed). I have known a few people who have been misdiagnosed as having Borderline Personality Disorder, only to be told years later...whoops, you actually have Bipolar Disorder.

I guess my BIG question for this post is, "Does a diagnosis really matter? Or is it sufficient to treat the symptoms people are experiencing, regardless of what it is called?

My appointment with Dr. X. was difficult to begin with, but by the end I wanted to stay and talk longer. I hate the 50 minute hour. I would give anything to go for a walk for a few hours with my pdoc. To really have an extended appointment in a different setting.

I hadn't written about this this week, because I made such a bold statement about my life suddenly taking a new direction, that I was reborn and had become a new person. I felt embarrassed when two days later I found myself in another state of depressive hell. My entire new personal "constitution" disappearing before my eyes.

I told Dr. X. about my revelation. I explained that I believed my dream was LITERALLY sending me a message, telling me to let my old me die and to become a new me. He looked a bit concerned, until I said I understood it was ME passing me the message, that it was my subconscious. It wasn't like I was getting third party messages. I do however, believe I get sent important messages especially from from my dreams, but also from nature; when I see coyotes in the field, or a bald eagle flies directly above me, or a plant passes me a message from my Mom. I feel some sort of mystical connection to the natural universe.

Anyways...Mysticism aside...Dr. X asked me if I was the wolf in my dream if perhaps the dream was telling me I have much more power and that I am much more calm and sure of myself than I give myself credit for. I definitely see that aspect of myself when I am well, and I especially see that when my mood goes extremely high.

This led to my asking him about both my medications and my diagnosis...the diagnostic labels are something he really does not like to place on patients. He seems to believe in treating symptoms, avoiding labels ("labels are for insurance companies", he once told me), and ensuring that a patient's subjectively positive experiences are never pathologized. I like his approach, but I sometimes also feel extremely confused by his avoidance of a diagnosis.

So yesterday I asked him straight out. "Do I have bipolar disorder? I know you have told me you have never seen me manic, but have you seen me hypomanic?"

(Inside my head I am thinking: "If I do have Bipolar Disorder just tell me and then I understand the importance of being on all this medication, also, I am thinking...you provide me with medication and lifestyle advice all of which is in keeping with what I understand helps people with bipolar disorder. You also talk about managing my cycling mood. Sometimes I just need to KNOW the truth about what is happening inside me. I feel sometimes I am being kept from the truth. I need to know what I am up against. Does this type of cycling lead to a higher potential of mania if I don't take medication? Are you worried about my switching into mania? If not...why the hell am I putting my body through all these medication trials? Why don't I just let my high moods happen?)

Instead of all those questions, feelings and statements all I ask is "Do I have Bipolar Disorder?"

He hummed and hawed, looked at me and said, "I don't want to patholigize your good moods. I have seen your mood so high that I believe it, in conjunction with the lessened sleep that accompanies those mood states, makes me believe the extremely high mood is unsustainable. Some could argue that you become hypomanic".

Me: "Are you afraid to tell me I have Bipolar Disorder? If I don't have bipolar disorder why am I on all these medications? Especially, why am I on a mood stabilizer? Maybe I don't need that medication."

Dr. X.: (paraphrase) No I am not afraid to say you have bipolar disorder. I don't want you to see your good moods as a bad thing.

Me: Well, how do we know if I should be on all this medication?

Dr. X.: Unfortunately there is no "test" to say you should be, or not. We need to determine that based on how you are feeling...I see with the Prozac you have had many more better times, or days than you have on any other medication.

Me: Well, maybe I should try going off the other medications, because maybe it is the Prozac that is making all the difference. I'd especially like to get off the Valium.

Dr. X.: I agree going of the Valium at some point might be a good idea, but I would rather it be when you are sleeping better than you are now, and when you are less anxious.

Me: I understand, but what if I switch my Valium for that new medication you were telling me about (Pregabilin)...I note that at this point our session is up.

Dr. X: This is a really important conversation. Let's talk about this next week.

Oyy. I really think I do have bipolar disorder. My highs are way too high...I know that. They feel like I have become some kind of god. Like I am better than well, am perfect, am adorable and fascinating, charismatic and completely free. It is as if I have somehow melded perfectly with the cosmos. The world changes and I see far more intensely and deeper than I ever see when I am depressed, or even when I feel well. Problem is...It feels soooo amazing to feel that way, and it is an intense departure and relief from my depression. I wonder if a mood stabilizer is holding me down. I have not felt any highs since I began mood stabilizers. I miss the relief. What if I could be that way all the time. Life would be amazing.