When I get sad--the kind of sad where I'm crying and I can't stop--it's not usually about whatever it is that started the crying in the first place. So when people ask me what I'm sad about it seems stupid.
I'm not sad about that. This is the fire. That was the spark. And the fire sucks. It sucks all the light from me and eats all the oxygen in the room.
I'm sad now. Or I'm angry. I can't tell. There was workplace crap in which someone said things to me that were not appropriate. What i would like to happen is to never have to see this person again. Instead what needs to happen is I have to have a polite confrontation with this person.
I don't do polite confrontation.
I do polite.
So I'm mad that the situation has forced me into this position that I'm not comfortable with. I'm sad. And I'm angry. And I can't stop crying. But I'm not this sad about the the inappropriate statements. I'm just upset. And now it is the upset that is the problem.
A stupid turtle that is on its back and can't right itself. A sailboat that has capsized. And now it is turtled. Just sitting there. Rocking back and forth in the waves. What are you sad about? How did you get here? Why are you not right? The world turned upside down. Now it doesn't matter. Now the matter is you need to figure out a way to right yourself.
I'm glad I have Workplace Accomodation. She is not the one who made inappropriate comments. If she did, I would just stick out my tongue and threaten not to catch any Pokemon for her on the way to work. Because I know her. And she is in my court.
I have a light schedule for the rest of the day. I am on my prep--no more classes to really teach today either. Which is good. I look like hell. My eyes are red and my face is blotchy. I don't want to fall apart in front of students. I'd rather not fall apart at all.
So I'm writing this. And it helps.
But I don't know how I can possibly be productive today. My brain is wasted. And I have a good brain. It is such a pity to waste it. My brain is one of my favorite things when it is functioning.
Tonight I need to be social and engage in the neighborhood and go Trick or Treating. All I want to do is nothing. Nothing and nothing and nothing.
200 mg lamotrigine
20 mg lurasidone
10 mg fluoxetine
I'm afraid that this is a good as it gets. That from here and from now it is just a long steady decline into endless, existential angst.
Because things are good right now...
I have a place to live in a neighborhood I like.
I have a job that I adore.
I have a great little family including a Spouse whom I adore.
My kids are in good schools.
None of us are hungry or Sick.
I have a faith community that suits my peculiar approach to religion (#quakersrule).
I have (but don't really go out of my way to see) a handful of amazing F/friends.
The weather is gorgeous and the trees are clad in fire and topaz.
And with all this going my way I am just barely treading water. Did I mention I have great healthcare that includes mental health providers. And I am medicated for my serious mental illness. I got no reason to be where I am. But here I am.
I've been having idle recurring thoughts--more of a recurring image, like a dream but while waking--of putting a long jagged scar along the length of my left arm. And imagining that the only reason that I don't do that is because I have a heavy beaded cuff around my left wrist.
I don't think I am going to actually do anything. But it is a disturbing recurring thought to have. The vivid image takes me by surprise and makes me feel ill. It feels almost like a flashback, only there is nothing to flashback to.
When I was in middle school I had a habit when my anxiety was overflowing. I would absentmindedly scratch through the skin on the back of my left wrist. Not deeply. Just enough and often enough that there was a remnant of a scar there for a long time. Not really anymore. I don't think.
I started making beaded cuffs a few years ago when I fell into this habit against my will (briefly and before beginning treatment for bipolar) after decades of not engaging in deliberate/unthinking self-harm.
The cuffs call my attention to what I am doing in general. Not that there is any great impulse to fall back into my old habit. Almost never. The cuffs are for something else now. Something more general. Grounding.
The thoughts of the long jagged scar on my arm--of putting the jagged scar on my arm--feel the same as my fear of jumping out of a chairlift while downhill skiing. I would never do this. But I am afraid, nevertheless. I am not afraid of falling. I am afraid of jumping. But not really.
Intention is not there. Only fear.
I got observed at work. And the bonus of being in a Depressed mood state was that I didn't get overly anxious. I just didn't think it would matter when she came to see me because whatever she saw would suck. I am not happy with how things went, but we were favorably reviewed. So there's that.
This is a depressing post.
I can smell ginger squash soup simmering. My daughter is playing happily with her friend. Elderboy is a work doing a job that he really enjoys. Spouse will be home soon. Tomorrow I will get up and bathe in a tub with a working drain (since I fixed that today). I will go to work with coworkers I value and enjoy. I will put one foot in front of the other. I will smile and laugh and feel like an actual human being. I can fake that for a few hours and it makes me feel better, really.
I know that staying home and not doing anything or seeing anyone is not good for me. I am just afraid to do anything else. Fear is my overarching emotion at the moment. No intention. Only fear.
I hate being afraid. It makes me feel weak. I can't tolerate weakness in myself. But it's all I can see.
I wish I saw myself as strong. I know I am. I know that I kick ass as a human being.
If I met me, I think I would be friends with me. I have pretty solid ethics. I'm loyal. I won't say anything behind your back that I wouldn't say to your face, for the most part. I'm just mad enough to be interesting but not enough to be terrifying.
20 mg -- but I don't think it is magically dealing with my Depression as it has in the passed. *sigh*
I was going to post more than the ominous "not well," but I was posting from my phone and it didn't work and I already felt like everyone and everything sucked, so I couldn't be bothered to try anymore. Try posting, that is. Don't freak out.
I must say that I do hate everyone and everything right now. Except Spouse. And my Workplace Accommodation. And the students in my homeroom class. And I guess maybe (when they aren't loud and bickering) my own children.
Which is why the only reason I can bring myself to get out of bed in the morning is because Spouse wakes me up, Workplace Accommodation picks me up to take me to school, my personal children say nice things when they are just waking up, and I start my work day with my homeroom students.
Work is my occupation as therapy.
If I didn't go to work I wouldn't bathe or brush my teeth or eat regular meals other than tea and sugar. I wouldn't get out of bed or turn on the lights or talk to anyone. I sure as damn hell wouldn't leave the house.
Weird things have been going on in my neighborhood, which pisses me off. I don't want to go into it. The dog that bit my Spouse and scares the Sh*t out of me still lives next door and I am afraid to go in my own front yard. So it looks like my house is abandoned.
Weeds have taken over the non-native-prairie portion of the yard. They've taken over what was supposed to be a square-foot garden. They've taken over the flower boxes. And the kidney-shaped berry garden. The raspberries look like tiny strangled trees with thorns. Our baby oak tree has crisped, dead leaves on the road-side in the boulevard. The peach is leaning over like it is badly and staggeringly drunk.
Every time the next door neighbors mow their lawn or use the leaf-blower or the weed whacker I feel guilty as hell and have to hide in my room with the blankets around my head. And they mow all the damn time.
I have changed my meds. I quit the fluoxetine which was clearly doing zero good even though I doubled the dose. I clearly was NOT manic, but Depressed as hell and getting worse. So I started my lurasidone, which is my go-to when Depression sucks. And I am supposed to call Psych NP but I don't want to because I can't imagine things ever getting better.
My hair is in greasy strands at the moment. Even though I worked I couldn't make myself wash my hair this morning. I took a semi-adequate sponge-bath and was semi-presentable at work. But just barely. No one passed out from smelling me anyway. Tomorrow I'll need to bathe. I hate the thought. Don't know why. This happens when my Depression sucks.
I can still smile at people at work. Which I suppose is a good thing. Things are still funny sometimes. And I talk to people.
But I've been forgetting things at work. Like what I am supposed to be doing.
I went downstairs to talk to a friend of mine and when I was looking right at her, I couldn't connect her name to her face. Different from calling someone the wrong name. There was a disconnect. I can't explain it. The experience was scary and weird even though I laughed about it.
I'm afraid of everything. I never want to leave my house. I don't want to see the Psych NP. I don't want to call her. I don't want to see Glinda the possibly-good-witch. Because it means I will have to leave school in the middle of the day. There is no good time to take care of my mental health.
I have a reason to dread every day of the week. Thursdays are particularly brutal. Everyone has something extra. And I feel like I can barely handle a regular day.
I'm in my observation window at work and I don't even care. I'm not anxious about it because I'm pretty sure it's just going to suck anyway, so why worry.
I'm on lamotrigine (3 pills) and lurasidone (one red pill) and I can't be bothered to remember the dose.
Quaker, teacher, parent,