Mental Mush

Yesterday was one of the worst mental health days I have ever had. Nothing bad happened. There was no trigger. There was no responding to outside events that affected my mood. I woke up with the distinct notion that I should kill myself. Everything was dark and distant and cold. I could find not one single positive thing about myself. I could see no future. I woke up half comatose. I got my kid on the bus, came back, and fell asleep. I NEVER sleep during the day. It didn’t get better after I woke, either. My mind was just convinced of the absolute futility of life. “I should die, I am useless.” “I have done nothing but mess up my life, I should kill myself.” Round and round it went. All. Day. Long. Hell is spending hour after hour in that mental space. I just felt like absolute shit. Physically, mentally. Like my brain was wrapped in gauze. Nothing I did made a difference. Getting up, moving around, listening to or watching things I enjoy. NOTHING HELPED. Bedtime was like the only mercy of the entire day.

Today was better. Not great, but better mentally. Had a massive panic attack when I looked outside and saw the internet company van parked out front. And my net was down. Just instant illogical panic. Shaking hands,racing heart, sweaty armpits, weak knees. Panic attacks suck. You know you won’t die from them but you sometimes wish you just would to never have to experience one again.

Read another blog this morning and this woman checked herself into a place to get help for her mental problems. Well her shrink told her she’s not depressed because she managed to go out and sign up for some sort of thing and she’s not bipolar because they’ve not witness a manic episode lasting 3-5 days. It was like a page from my own past. How hard I had to fight to get diagnosed properly. How long I spent getting the wrong meds because of a wrong diagnosis.This inexact science that is mental healthcare does us a disservice. They preach that we are all different, yet they have their neat little boxes of criterion that comprise a mental disorder. If you don’t meet every single check box, then you don’t have that disorder. It’s all bullshit. Most of it is opinion, anyway, and I’;ve had enough shrinks and diagnoses to know everyone’s is different and most are plain wrong.

But these are the people we have to rely on for help. People who tell us we don’t do this and we’re able to do this so we can’t be this. It makes me furious. I may get up, put my kid on a school bus, and keep dishes and laundry done but it’s automated functioning. I have no hope, no joy, no motivation. This is not living, this is existing. And that makes it depression. As for the bipolar…I rapid cycle, thus a cyclothymia tag. Just because my manic episodes don’t run for days on end doesn’t make bipolar any less the diagnosis. I am up and down and all around. I get hyper, I get illogically happy, I get low. I run the spectrum, without triggers.

And tomorrow I get to go see the shrink who will tell me to force myself to function blah blah blah., Push myself, yada yada yada. I am giving up on the Cymbalta. She mentioned something called Viibryd so I am gonna ask if we can try that. I can’t stand much longer in this depression. I was reading what I;ve been writing in my book…and even it is impacted by my mental states. I will turn a whole new direction and wreck continuity based on a mood swing, I ramble and make no sense. I have no joyous scenes because I feel no joy. It’s ass trash.

It’s all ass trash.

But today was better and I did do some stuff. Had to buy bread and of course saw two people I know which mortified me. I hate for people I know to see me in my depressive glory. Unbrushed hair, no make up, slobby clothes, and the look of a caffeine jittered haunted cornered animal. Awesome. Because they won’t think, wow, her depression must be bad, she looks bad. Nooo, it will all amount to how I am too lazy to groom myself, blah blah blah.

I just want to be me again. I haven;t been me in six months, since the last anti dep had to be stopped due to side effects. It sucks. It all sucks. I get to watch while around me people get on with their lives, things improve for them, and here I am, as always, treading water, going nowhere. Existing.On no planet will I ever accept existing as living life. I want to live life again. I wonder if I ever have, though. Lived life. Seems due to the mental illness much of it has been spent just surviving.

For my birthday next week…I’d just like to feel…not like this.

2 Responses to “Mental Mush”

  1. The last “depressive episode” or whatever the hell you want to call it had no cause that I could see. Um… maybe my brain isn’t functioning properly? Maybe that’s why they call it MENTAL ILLNESS??? I hate it when they always think there has to be a cause. Well, maybe it was a subconscious one. Ugh.

    Does anybody actually know someone that fit into these boxes and actually got better with conventional methods of ‘help’? I’m starting to think they don’t exist. Or they weren’t actually mentally ill in the first place.

    A friend of my husband’s thought he had depression. Then he met me. He admitted pretty quickly that nope, he was just blue about some particular life circumstances. Yeah. Thought so. And since you mentioned feeling ‘depressed’ to your doctor, and now you’re not, they’ll count you as a success story. Fan-fucking-tastic.

  2. I feel like saying, if you want to witness my mood swings, take me off the lamictal and let’s see what happens. I know what will happen, but I’m willing to try it just so for once they’ll listen. If we can’t agree on a diagnosis fine just treat my ducking symptoms.

    Hugs for you my love.

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