homebody

I'm going to be off work for a while I guess. I saw my primary care physician on Monday because I needed a couple days off and I couldn't get into my psychiatrist. I burst into tears the second she walked into the room...I don't think she's seen me cry since I was like 7. Thus, she refused to write me a slip for two days...she insisted on a minimum of two weeks. I fought that pretty hard, but by the time I left the office I was resigned to that fact that she (and apparently everyone around me?) was right.

I've been working on getting better for about a month now, and I really thought I was on the mend when we got home from Florida and California. But when I went back to work I struggled. I couldn't joke around with my co-workers who eventually realized I was so touchy they didn't try. My hands have been shaking for weeks now...not so much a good thing when you're a phlebotomist. Halfway through my shift I just fade, which is usually about the time we get busy. One afternoon my stomach suddenly started to clench up, my chest tightened, and I felt like my whole body was shaking. My heart rate was over 120 and I was suddenly petrified about everything that I could possibly think of. It wasn't until all that subsided that I realized I'd had a panic attack.

I told my psychiatrist about this when I saw her a few days later. I hadn't had another attack so to speak, but I hadn't been able to relax much. She prescribed a benzodiazapine and sent me on my way with 3 months of all my meds, come back in 3 months. So she didn't really address the panic thing other than to give me 20 pills to use PRN. I was having a decent day though, so I didn't think much of it either.

The next day I had a severe panic attack at work. I managed to get off the donor floor just before I broke down, but just barely. I sat on the floor of the locker room bawling and quickly took one of the xanax. My supervisor came back, told me to take my lunch, and got me some kleenex. After 20-30 minutes I called my Mom to see what the onset was supposed to be for the xanax and to see if I should take another since I didn't really understand the label.

She didn't answer. Freaking out, I called my sister who had just been discharged form MGH that morning after gallbladder surgery. She immediately found my Mom (although I don't know how) and was in the process of trying to find Joe's work number before I agreed to leave work. Laura picked me up from work and brought me to her office while we waited for Joe, whom I'd pulled out of an interview to come get me. It was literally three hours before I calmed down and I took an entire milligram of xanax to get there. Eventually I just fell asleep, but had another minor attack that night.

I can't imagine what it's like for my family when I'm like this. They worry, they check on me, some of them seem to have a sixth sense...my Dad and brother Joe rarely call just to chat, but both of them did this weekend. Neither had any idea what was going on. What I think they've learned though is that I won't do the things I need to do to get better until I am ready. My Mom is really good about pushing me towards those things, but sometimes that results in me avoiding her altogether. She practically had to dial the phone for me to go see Dr. Kroll after sitting with me until I agreed to take two days off. The whole fam was very glad to hear I was taking time off.

I fought the doc hard on taking two weeks off. Actually, two weeks was a compromise. She said I needed to be off work until I was set up with a therapist and was effectively using other anti-anxiety techniques. She didn't change my meds because they really aren't at peak levels yet, but she did draw some labs. I haven't had labs done since August of 2006 and considering I'm on 6 different medications, it's time to check out my liver, etc. Another one of my Mom's ideas. She had me write down everything I needed to tell Dr. Kroll. Yesterday I finally came to terms with my need to be off work. I went into the center to drop off paperwork and what not for my leave of absence. I sat in the parking lot for 15 minutes collecting myself beforehand. When I finally went in I didn't even look at any of my co-workers, who are my friends. I went directly to the managers office, did what was necessary, and bolted from the building. I was about 2 blocks away and I had to stop and collect myself again.

So here I am at home. I don't feel better, I don't feel relaxed, I just feel lazy and upset that I can't function. What a piss poor attitude, hey? Mame told me I was not allowed to sit on the couch in my pajama's and eat bon-bons for two weeks (what the hell are bon-bons anyway?). I don't think I would do that anyway...TV doesn't do much for me.

So instead I've made a list of things I can do to keep myself busy-ish and to make me feel a little less useless for not working. The top of the list was finding a)a therapist and b) a new psychiatrist because Mame has finally put her foot down about my current doctor. Oh, and I eat Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia instead, as I've been addicted to it since we got back from California.

Finding doctors has proven problematic. I'm certainly not going to open the yellow pages and pick a therapist at random, but all the ones that been recommended to me are scheduling in the middle of March. Also, Marquette is kind of low on the psychiatrists, minus the ones at MGH, but those are also pretty scarce. So I'm still working on that.

In the three days I've been off so far I'm most bothered by my inability to multi-task. It killllllssss me. That's how I function, it's how I work. But I can't. So I have to choose one task for each day and take my time. I hate it i hate it i hate it. swear I'm not a negative Nancy all day long, this is just one of those moments.

I'm also on a (self-made) schedule, which I've based off of the one I was on when I was an inpatient. I'm not allowed to sleep past 8:00 and I have to be showered and dressed by 9:30. Joe comes home for lunch now which is good mostly because it forces me to eat. 3:00-5:00 is my free time...thats when I can watch TV or just relax on the couch or whatever. No naps though, I've just recently regulated my sleep. Dinner is around 6:30-7 and I'm in bed no later than 11:30. I've also decided I am going to update my blog at least every other day. Writing has always been therapeutic to me, so I'm going to start doing it more. Especially until I can actually see a therapist.

Since my appointment on Monday, Joe has suddenly altered his schedule - he goes to work for 8, comes home for lunch about noon, and tries to be home around 5. He has to bring work home, but that's ok. I really appreciate that he's coming home to be with me. I think he's frustrated because he doesn't know what to do to help, but this definitely will. At the risk of sounding like a broken record, he's is (as usual) being completely wonderful and taking exceptional care of me in anyway he can figure out. I'm very lucky.

Today my project is all about pictures. I'm getting photos together to send to Crystal and starting the process of finally getting pictures uploaded onto a photo sharing site. That's it. That's the whole day. I'm still not done. But at least I've got it rolling - it's totally ok if I have to finish tomorrow. I've got nothin' but time.

PS - Everybody chill out. Or at least don't let me know you're freaking out. It stresses me out when y'all freak out (y'all - practicing for the move down south). And I don't need stress - I'm fragile, remember? :) Probably don't call either - talking on the phone about this stuff gives me the willies. I don't need those either.

If you want, you can email me. Better yet, you can bring me Ben & Jerry's, because I DO need that. Currently, it's on sale 2/$5 at Walmart. I'm willing to clean out the freezer to accommodate multiple pints.

Look at that, I'm already not being such a Debbie downer. I knew this writing thing was a good idea.

crash

Things have been difficult lately; it's taken its toll on me and I would assume, in turn, on Joe as well. To say we've been stressed out is definitely an understatement. Joe has been working long hours (although I think he enjoys them), I'm not particularly happy with my job, and then there's the moving. The endless moving.

I haven't been well. Not surprisingly, I severely underestimated the effect all this would have on my mental health. I was at least three weeks too late getting myself to the doctor and have had to return almost weekly since the 8th of January. I haven't cycled in a long time, but I'm still bothered that I missed the signs. I suppose I shouldn't dwell.

I don't remember my last night of sleep that wasn't assisted by medication. The only night I tried to sleep naturally since starting the meds was horrifying - I had vivid nightmares that I found hard to separate from reality and felt like I was stuck somewhere between sleep and consciousness; it was as if my body was sleeping but my brain was still awake. I think I probably only slept for about an hour the whole night.

Even with medication, I'm not sleeping through the night most of the time. I wake up around 3 or 4 every day. I used to be up for hours, thinking about the most irrelevant things until I was finally able to drift off around 6 or 7, only to be woken by my alarm a few minutes later. Now when I wake up my brain doesn't have much to say - it just tells me that I'm awake, that I should see what time it is, and tells me if I can take another ambien and still be able to function in the morning. If there's not enough time, it tells me to lay back down and wait to fall asleep again, which still takes at least an hour. The controlled release form of the med didn't help much, so we're forever increasing the amount I take. I'm still having trouble with an 8 hour work day, but at least I'm not as exhausted as I was a couple weeks ago.

Moving out of our apartment was disastrous for me, which was made worse by the fact that it happened so suddenly. I spent a lot of time sitting on the floor and crying while I tried to pack or unpack things. Joe tried very hard to keep me out of the moving process, but he finally reached the point where he accepted help. Thankfully we got some helpful hands from my family, namely Mike and Laura, but it was still very hard. I was unable to go to work for a couple days and was barely functioning when I returned. By the time we were completely moved out and had cleaned the apartment it was Thursday and we left for Florida/California the next day.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't miserable the entire time we were gone. It had nothing to do with where we were - we had wonderful hosts in Florida and it was great to see Becky, Fonsi, and Christopher in L.A. But I was not in the right state of mind to enjoy myself. It took so much energy to try...even to just relax and watch a movie (which I didn't have the attention span for). We did what we could to make the best of our trip, but the only thing I wanted to do was go home. But I didn't know where that was...home to me was our apartment in Marquette on our couch in our living room, but we'd left that. The apartment was left empty, our couch in storage, and I couldn't even picture what our new living room looked like. It was a conscious effort to not stay in our room constantly and Joe had to guide me through my tears every night.

Poor Joe. I worry about him and how he's been dealing with this. While I'm certainly better than I was two weeks ago, I know I'm still taxing. He gets the brunt of my irritability, agitation, and anger. I fear he feels he's responsible for bringing recent stressors into our lives. But it's not about the stressors, its about how my brain and I deal with them. And since no one can control whatever cocktail of neuroreceptors my brain wants to mix up, that can be a toughie. He's been absolutely amazing thus far and I have no doubts that will continue....but I can tell that sometimes he's working hard to not be angry or annoyed with me, like at 2am when I ask him to stay awake with me until my sleeping pills kick in because I'm too afraid to let myself fall asleep naturally because of the nightmares. I know that would piss me off. And yet he's my rock, always understanding and supportive, always ready to let me drench his shirt in tears. I wonder if he knew what he was getting into.

So now we play the medication game, trading side effects for serotonin; headaches are tolerable if I can muster up the concentration to read a book, sweating is fine if I can just stop shaking with anxiety at work, nausea is manageable so long as I have interest in eating. I attribute most of my improvement, which has been relatively little, to the amount of sleep I'm forcing upon myself. The med I'm on is classified as "miscellaneous" anti-depressant, so I don't know what rules it plays by...I'm guessing it takes 2-6 weeks. This is the beginning of week three.

Its odd how one day your therapist tells you you're moderately depressed and the next you're forced to accept that you have a life long mental illness. Odder still is looking back on your life and realizing that you can't argue otherwise; seeing that everything you've ever done spells manic-depressive. But what I can't get over is even after all the hell it's put me through, I've forgotten to respect the condition. I can ignore it for as long as I want, but it will not ignore me.