Vulnerable

Vulnerable

Today is brought to you by the letter “V” and I choose for it to stand for “VULNERABLE” as part of the A to Z Blogging Challenge.

My theme for this Challenge is depression and anxiety and all that goes with it.

Synonyms: Helpless, defenseless, powerless, impotent, susceptible.

Dealing with mental illness, I have often felt vulnerable.  I am vulnerable because my coping skills are gone.  What would normally be considered a minor nuisance, becomes a whole “big thing” because I feel so overwhelmed.  I am vulnerable to freaking out over the smallest of reasons as well as hair trigger anger/irritability issues.  These are new for me and I think it is really just from feeling so frustrated lately with my depression and anxiety.

My partner realized that I had a set back this week (in trying to get a referral to another psychiatrist who isn’t a quack.)  Because my coping skills are gone, she knows that small chores like phone calls or shopping are tough for me right now, she has stepped up and done all these things for me.  I feel the guilt creeping in but I know she loves me and doesn’t mind.  She realizes that I might start crying in public at any time so she makes sure when we do go out, I have my sunglasses.  She understands that I am constantly walking on eggshells, always feeling vulnerable to attack from unknown sources.

I have also been feeling rather vulnerable lately because I have been confiding in my one friend who knows about my depression and anxiety.  It is scary being honest with another person about how I have been suicidal lately.  I am so worried she will freak out and not be able to handle it.  Of course, she has not given me this idea at all, I am just ruminating bad thoughts all the time.  I am vulnerable to that.  keep-calm-and-be-vulnerable

Advertisements

Remorse

Remorse

Today is brought to you by the letter “R” and I choose for it to stand for “REMORSE” as part of the A to Z Blogging Challenge.

My theme for this Challenge is depression and anxiety and all that goes with it.

This post will be very similar to my previous post on GUILT  from earlier in the month, as remorse is closely related.

From Wikipedia:  Remorse is an emotional expression of personal regret felt by a person after they have committed an act which they deem to be shameful, hurtful, or violent. Remorse is closely allied to GUILT and self-directed resentment.

I personally feel remorse about a particular incident years ago.  I tried to hurt myself, fatally.  Instead of doing what I was going to do, I ended up somehow at our nearby emergency ward, drunk and crying (I have since learned that alcohol and depression don’t mix well).  My parents and partner knew I had taken off from the house, set on hurting myself but had no clue where I was.  They called the police, they were looking for me.  My parents saw my mental illness in all it’s glory that night and it broke them.  I am remorseful about that night long ago.  Them at the hospital, out of their mind with worry.  I also feel remorse about that night because it was the time I fell from grace so to speak, in my parents’ eyes.

Mental illness can be downright ugly sometimes.  Loved ones and friends see you for who you really are and there is no more pretending.  The cat is out of the bag I guess.  Strange expression.

Guilt

IMG_9429

Today is brought to you by the letter “G” and I choose for it to stand for “GUILT” as part of the A to Z Blogging Challenge.

My theme for this Challenge is depression and anxiety and all that goes with it.

From Wikipedia:

Guilt is a cognitive or an emotional experience that occurs when a person realizes or believes —accurately or not—that he or she has compromised his or her own standards of conduct or has violated a moral standard, and bears significant responsibility for that violation. It is closely related to the concept of remorse.  (More on that topic later in the month)

Sound familiar?  Guilt seems to travel hand in hand with depression, or at least it has with mine.  I frequently feel guilty that I am off work on disability and earning a smaller salary as a result.  This makes me feel like I am not pulling my weight in my relationship and starts all sorts of negative self talk in my head.  8c3206994a71f489bf6a5ea60663d8d7I know I shouldn’t think like that and my partner is fine with that whole thing but I can’t stop thinking that, no matter how many times you tell me.  I know it’s frustrating to you, guess how I feel?

I also feel really guilty that I am not “there” for my partner like she is for me.  She never needs anything, as she has such a sunny disposition and is always happy it seems.  Right now as I write these words, I can hear her upstairs in the kitchen puttering around, whistling some made up tune.  I wish I wasn’t in an anxious or depressed mood half the time, ruining her mood.  I sometimes wonder why she is still here with me after 25 years, it’s a shear miracle.

I feel very guilty when my depression floods back in suddenly and I am left crumpled in my bed, unable to take my dog for a walk.  My partner takes her alone and just “understands”.  My poor sweet dog, loves me unconditionally and here I am, ignoring her wants and desires.  Walks are what she lives for and sometimes I can’t get my ass out of bed to make her happy.

Thank goodness I am having another good week and my energy has slowly returned.  I can actually feel the difference between being depressed and just being lazy so I’ve started running again.  My partner and I had started running again this Spring, after a few years layoff but it lasted until it started snowing again.  I need to keep it up and make it a habit if it stands a chance of sticking.  In the meantime, I’m slowly catching myself more and more when I slam myself into a guilt trip and try to put the brakes on it before my whole mood gets shot for the day.  I am also feeling more creative with my photography and can’t wait for some warmer weather here in Canada to get out and shoot some Spring flowers.

Depression Can Be Fatal

Tried so hard last night to get to sleep before my crying jags started up again.  I had taken a Seroquel and was waiting anxiously for it to kick in.  My partner, lying behind me was rubbing my back which made me start to cry again.  It’s so frustrating and embarrassing.  I hate for her to see me this way.  Not just because I feel so ashamed and guilty for acting and feeling this way, but because I hate having her worried about me.

I have been off work for almost a year now.  Money is tight, trips cancelled, grand plans put on hold and its all my fault.  The guilt is becoming so unbearable and I am crying again as I write these words.  I have had depression on and off my whole life but lately it is anxiety that I’ve been treated for.  Now, my depression has come back full force and my psychiatrist does nothing but stare at me while I cry for my weekly 20 minute appointment, then ask if I need any refills.  It’s a real wonder why I’m still here

Decided during my feeling of hopelessness this morning, to call my regular doctor to find out how I can fire my psychiatrist and get a new one as mine is a fucking idiot!  Sorry for that.  Usually I would have to wait months for an appointment but as luck would have it, she was on urgent care tonight (she works in a clinic with other doctors) and there was an appointment available tonight.  I booked it!  I need to gather my thoughts and figure out what I need to bring up with her without dissolving into a puddle of tears, rambling on and on about my issues.

  1. Get a referral to a new psychiatrist.
  2. Discuss my Cymbalta withdrawal problems.
  3. Let her know I am afraid I am deteriorating and my thoughts of suicide.

Took a break from writing this post to go outside and pick up dog poop as it is zero degrees Celsius and sunny (nice for March in Ontario, Canada).  I promised my partner I would go outside today. Things were going well till I couldn’t chisel the poop out of the snow as it has melted down into it.  I usually do this every 2 days or so but in my Cymbalta withdrawal this week, I have left it.  Again, my fault and I began crying.  Tears were rolling down my face as a was getting more and more frustrated at the encapsulated poop just beyond my reach.  I did the only sensible thing and gave up.  What if my neighbour sees me crying, picking up poop.  It’s not the poop, its me!

This is why I need to do something and go see my doctor tonight.  I realized that depression can be fatal.