I saw my counselor again today and had one of the most intense sessions I think I've ever had. All of the feelings, the seeking, the anxiety, even the depression that usually comes this time of year all came to a head this morning.
My counselor took notes on what I was saying and made a copy for me. She says this is what we really need to work on. It is as if the chemical part of the depression and anxiety is more or less stabilized so now the rest of what I keep locked inside can finally come out.
I read her notes on the way home and was sobbing again. I wanted to share them here but I don't have the energy to go through it again. I will try again after Shabbos.
I am exhausted and shaking. Already I feel like I spent that hour in counseling just whining and complaining about "poor me." My husband came with me today because I was in no shape to drive and he thought this might be a good session for his input (it was) and he says I did a lot of very hard emotional work and hopefully this means I can start to heal.
I am still afraid I am being too self-absorbed but I am too tired to argue.
Friday, February 22, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Coping as best I can
I called my counselor today. She only had a moment when she returned my message, another client was waiting, but she created a new appointment for me next Wednesday. By then I should know if the medication is working.
Today I was trembling all day, anxiety trapped in the confines of my body. I can still focus on a task. I remember how much painting helped after my pregnancy loss, so I started to paint my kitchen. It is something I've wanted to do for a long time. I am doing small sections at a time. Today I primed one half of one wall.
This weekend is a big one for my oldest child, with a major school program on Sunday. A smaller program is tomorrow afternoon, part of welcoming Shabbos. He is nervous because he is performing. I am nervous because I need to hold myself together.
You all are right: my perspective is flawed. Even the way I see myself in the mirror is skewed from what it was a couple of weeks ago. I do not like what I see.
My friend D called tonight to see how I was doing but I was too tired to talk long. Another friend came over this afternoon and helped with my kitchen while we talked.
I want to hide from shul but I will not. I need to face this. It doesn't have to be a repeat of last year or the many years prior.
I am still anxious and scared and worried the crash is coming, but I am trying my best to use my coping skills to get through the minute, the hour, the day.
Waiting for what, I do not know. Perhaps it's as simple as peace. I wait and cope, hoping that peace will come soon.
Today I was trembling all day, anxiety trapped in the confines of my body. I can still focus on a task. I remember how much painting helped after my pregnancy loss, so I started to paint my kitchen. It is something I've wanted to do for a long time. I am doing small sections at a time. Today I primed one half of one wall.
This weekend is a big one for my oldest child, with a major school program on Sunday. A smaller program is tomorrow afternoon, part of welcoming Shabbos. He is nervous because he is performing. I am nervous because I need to hold myself together.
You all are right: my perspective is flawed. Even the way I see myself in the mirror is skewed from what it was a couple of weeks ago. I do not like what I see.
My friend D called tonight to see how I was doing but I was too tired to talk long. Another friend came over this afternoon and helped with my kitchen while we talked.
I want to hide from shul but I will not. I need to face this. It doesn't have to be a repeat of last year or the many years prior.
I am still anxious and scared and worried the crash is coming, but I am trying my best to use my coping skills to get through the minute, the hour, the day.
Waiting for what, I do not know. Perhaps it's as simple as peace. I wait and cope, hoping that peace will come soon.
Coping as best I can
I called my counselor today. She only had a moment when she returned my message, another client was waiting, but she created a new appointment for me next Wednesday. By then I should know if the medication is working.
Today I was trembling all day, anxiety trapped in the confines of my body. I can still focus on a task. I remember how much painting helped after my pregnancy loss, so I started to paint my kitchen. It is something I've wanted to do for a long time. I am doing small sections at a time. Today I primed one half of one wall.
This weekend is a big one for my oldest child, with a major school program on Sunday. A smaller program is tomorrow afternoon, part of welcoming Shabbos. He is nervous because he is performing. I am nervous because I need to hold myself together.
You all are right: my perspective is flawed. Even the way I see myself in the mirror is skewed from what it was a couple of weeks ago. I do not like what I see.
My friend D called tonight to see how I was doing but I was too tired to talk long. Another friend came over this afternoon and helped with my kitchen while we talked.
I want to hide from shul but I will not. I need to face this. It doesn't have to be a repeat of last year or the many years prior.
I am still anxious and scared and worried the crash is coming, but I am trying my best to use my coping skills to get through the minute, the hour, the day.
Waiting for what, I do not know. Perhaps it's as simple as peace. I wait and cope, hoping that peace will come soon.
Today I was trembling all day, anxiety trapped in the confines of my body. I can still focus on a task. I remember how much painting helped after my pregnancy loss, so I started to paint my kitchen. It is something I've wanted to do for a long time. I am doing small sections at a time. Today I primed one half of one wall.
This weekend is a big one for my oldest child, with a major school program on Sunday. A smaller program is tomorrow afternoon, part of welcoming Shabbos. He is nervous because he is performing. I am nervous because I need to hold myself together.
You all are right: my perspective is flawed. Even the way I see myself in the mirror is skewed from what it was a couple of weeks ago. I do not like what I see.
My friend D called tonight to see how I was doing but I was too tired to talk long. Another friend came over this afternoon and helped with my kitchen while we talked.
I want to hide from shul but I will not. I need to face this. It doesn't have to be a repeat of last year or the many years prior.
I am still anxious and scared and worried the crash is coming, but I am trying my best to use my coping skills to get through the minute, the hour, the day.
Waiting for what, I do not know. Perhaps it's as simple as peace. I wait and cope, hoping that peace will come soon.
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Chaos
There is a battle raging within me. I feel like I am in chaos. It is so hard to focus.
This is what I'd described in the hospital years ago that the doctor thought might be a manic episode. I can tell as I sit here awash in the feelings that it is not. A very good friend stopped by today because she was concerned and I liked her description of mania versus what I am feeling.
Mania, she said, is GO!
What I am feeling is not linear. It spirals, swirls, but trapped, contained. Like vegetables in a pressure cooker and I don't know how to release it without spraying carrots and potatos all over. I feel like I am about to crawl out of my skin. I have felt like this for two days now.
Every sudden sound makes me jump severely. I am so self-conscious that I feel embarrassed to even take up space. I feel that I must apologize for my existence. I am certain that everything I do or say somehow detracts from everyone else.
I want to be distracted, to focus on something other than what I'm feeling. The TV writers' strike is not helping. I am reading but sometimes even focusing on the words and what they are saying is too much. I am constantly figdeting, using my hands, and I scratch and pick and rub without even being aware of it.
Sunday night I took a bath to relax but somehow I zoned out or something and I scratched parts of my shin until they bled. The pain and scabs now remind me that I am, in a way, disconnected from my body. I know this is dangerous. I know this is where the urge to cut can become so strong just so that I feel something on the outside, so that I can show others exactly how much it hurts inside.
Last night I managed to redirect this energy and gave myself a sort of manicure. It got me through an hour and now my nails look neat and shiny. But once I was done, I had to figure out how to get through the next hour. And the next.
Today I spent the day listening to the same six songs over and over again while cleaning my kitchen. I mopped a very dirty part of the floor and then I had to wash the walls and the baseboards in that corner. It is as if the only way to channel this chaotic energy is to focus on smaller and smaller detaisl. First it was the floor. Then the walls. Then the baseboards. Then I was on my knees scraping the tiny cracks where the floor meets the baseboard and the baseboard meets the walls. I was just shy of searching for a used toothbrush and a handful of toothpicks to do an even better job when my friend stopped by.
She asked me to try a yoga pose with her called Mountain. I tried. I managed to get myself to stand up straight but I couldn't relax my shoulders or keep my hands down at my sides. When she asked me to take a deep breath, I couldn't. It physically hurt in my chest. I was so self-conscious I was almost in tears. My hands won't stop shaking. My chin trembles when I try to be still.
Curling up into a ball feels comfortable, wrapping my arms around me and tucking my chin into my chest. My husband calls it 'turtling.' I still cannot tell if I am too hot or too cold. I seem to bounce back and forth between the two.
Sunday I increased my Prozac from 50mg/day to 60mg, as the psychiatrist's assistant recommended--when I saw her last she said if I needed to before she saw me again, I shouldn't hesitate to go up to 60. I don't know if I caught it in time. It will take a week or so for me to start feeling a difference, two weeks to really notice it.
In the meantime one of my children has a program at school and I will have to get myself together enough to go out and be in public. That terrifies me.
And I know what is coming next. Something small, insignificant will happen. I will hear something said or see someone look at me and interpret it all wrong and then will come the crash. All this spiraling chaos will turn into a maelstrom, pulling me down until I am submerged and drowning. I can hope that I increased the meds in time to avoid this or that it will be less severe but I am not convinced that hoping will do much good.
My husband wants me to call my counselor but I am so certain that there is nothing anyone can do. All I can do is ride it out, take it hour by hour or minute by minute and focus on what I can do--but not too much focus on too much detail--and keep taking my meds and try to be aware of my body and hold back the urge to scratch or cut. I am so certain of this that I see no point in calling.
It is what it is and I can't see how anyone can help.
This is what I'd described in the hospital years ago that the doctor thought might be a manic episode. I can tell as I sit here awash in the feelings that it is not. A very good friend stopped by today because she was concerned and I liked her description of mania versus what I am feeling.
Mania, she said, is GO!
What I am feeling is not linear. It spirals, swirls, but trapped, contained. Like vegetables in a pressure cooker and I don't know how to release it without spraying carrots and potatos all over. I feel like I am about to crawl out of my skin. I have felt like this for two days now.
Every sudden sound makes me jump severely. I am so self-conscious that I feel embarrassed to even take up space. I feel that I must apologize for my existence. I am certain that everything I do or say somehow detracts from everyone else.
I want to be distracted, to focus on something other than what I'm feeling. The TV writers' strike is not helping. I am reading but sometimes even focusing on the words and what they are saying is too much. I am constantly figdeting, using my hands, and I scratch and pick and rub without even being aware of it.
Sunday night I took a bath to relax but somehow I zoned out or something and I scratched parts of my shin until they bled. The pain and scabs now remind me that I am, in a way, disconnected from my body. I know this is dangerous. I know this is where the urge to cut can become so strong just so that I feel something on the outside, so that I can show others exactly how much it hurts inside.
Last night I managed to redirect this energy and gave myself a sort of manicure. It got me through an hour and now my nails look neat and shiny. But once I was done, I had to figure out how to get through the next hour. And the next.
Today I spent the day listening to the same six songs over and over again while cleaning my kitchen. I mopped a very dirty part of the floor and then I had to wash the walls and the baseboards in that corner. It is as if the only way to channel this chaotic energy is to focus on smaller and smaller detaisl. First it was the floor. Then the walls. Then the baseboards. Then I was on my knees scraping the tiny cracks where the floor meets the baseboard and the baseboard meets the walls. I was just shy of searching for a used toothbrush and a handful of toothpicks to do an even better job when my friend stopped by.
She asked me to try a yoga pose with her called Mountain. I tried. I managed to get myself to stand up straight but I couldn't relax my shoulders or keep my hands down at my sides. When she asked me to take a deep breath, I couldn't. It physically hurt in my chest. I was so self-conscious I was almost in tears. My hands won't stop shaking. My chin trembles when I try to be still.
Curling up into a ball feels comfortable, wrapping my arms around me and tucking my chin into my chest. My husband calls it 'turtling.' I still cannot tell if I am too hot or too cold. I seem to bounce back and forth between the two.
Sunday I increased my Prozac from 50mg/day to 60mg, as the psychiatrist's assistant recommended--when I saw her last she said if I needed to before she saw me again, I shouldn't hesitate to go up to 60. I don't know if I caught it in time. It will take a week or so for me to start feeling a difference, two weeks to really notice it.
In the meantime one of my children has a program at school and I will have to get myself together enough to go out and be in public. That terrifies me.
And I know what is coming next. Something small, insignificant will happen. I will hear something said or see someone look at me and interpret it all wrong and then will come the crash. All this spiraling chaos will turn into a maelstrom, pulling me down until I am submerged and drowning. I can hope that I increased the meds in time to avoid this or that it will be less severe but I am not convinced that hoping will do much good.
My husband wants me to call my counselor but I am so certain that there is nothing anyone can do. All I can do is ride it out, take it hour by hour or minute by minute and focus on what I can do--but not too much focus on too much detail--and keep taking my meds and try to be aware of my body and hold back the urge to scratch or cut. I am so certain of this that I see no point in calling.
It is what it is and I can't see how anyone can help.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Lost
I don't want to jump to conclusions but I am scared.
I have been so tired for so long. The upgrade to 5mg Lunesta has helped me sleep through the night most nights but I still spend a larger percentage of my daytime looking forward to sleep than I do looking forward to anything else.
Erev shabbos I went to bed early, feeling dizzy and unable to stand up any longer. I planned to be at shul in the morning. I woke at 3:37pm Shabbos afternoon. My husband says I am exhausted and needed the sleep. I am not sure what I am doing that is so exhausting.
I dozed on and off until my regular bedtime and then took the Lunesta. I slept through the night again and am sure I dreamed something important, though I cannot remember what it was. I woke this morning feeling a little better. More awake but not more energized.
As today wore on, it was as if my nerve endings were getting increasingly frayed. Being around even just a couple of people felt like I was suffocating in a crowd. Every noise was loud and grating. Every voice too shrill. Every touch painful.
I want to shrink into myself, curl up and hide away somewhere. I can sense tears, though I wouldn't call it sadness. Maybe just lost. There are projects I want to do but no energy to do them. Everything is a strain, a chore. Everything wears me out. My body cannot decide if it is too hot or too cold; it only knows it is not comfortable. Clothing is too scratchy, too warm, too something.
I really thought I felt okay late last week but now my husband says he's seen me headed this way for the past week. I am scared, concerned that this is my bad time of year, this is the treacherous path through the calendar, but this recent feeling seems to have come on too quickly, too sudden and without warning.
Due to scheduling conflicts, I will not see my counselor for three weeks. I will not see the psychiatrist's assistant for another two months. This doesn't seem like something to take to my rabbi. I don't even know if this is something I should do something about or something to wait and see or something not to worry about.
Is it just exhaustion? Or side effects of either of my medications? Or have I already crossed the anxiety bridge, missed the red flags again, and started my stay on Depression Island? I can't tell anymore. I only know I want to be quiet and alone and to sleep.
I have been so tired for so long. The upgrade to 5mg Lunesta has helped me sleep through the night most nights but I still spend a larger percentage of my daytime looking forward to sleep than I do looking forward to anything else.
Erev shabbos I went to bed early, feeling dizzy and unable to stand up any longer. I planned to be at shul in the morning. I woke at 3:37pm Shabbos afternoon. My husband says I am exhausted and needed the sleep. I am not sure what I am doing that is so exhausting.
I dozed on and off until my regular bedtime and then took the Lunesta. I slept through the night again and am sure I dreamed something important, though I cannot remember what it was. I woke this morning feeling a little better. More awake but not more energized.
As today wore on, it was as if my nerve endings were getting increasingly frayed. Being around even just a couple of people felt like I was suffocating in a crowd. Every noise was loud and grating. Every voice too shrill. Every touch painful.
I want to shrink into myself, curl up and hide away somewhere. I can sense tears, though I wouldn't call it sadness. Maybe just lost. There are projects I want to do but no energy to do them. Everything is a strain, a chore. Everything wears me out. My body cannot decide if it is too hot or too cold; it only knows it is not comfortable. Clothing is too scratchy, too warm, too something.
I really thought I felt okay late last week but now my husband says he's seen me headed this way for the past week. I am scared, concerned that this is my bad time of year, this is the treacherous path through the calendar, but this recent feeling seems to have come on too quickly, too sudden and without warning.
Due to scheduling conflicts, I will not see my counselor for three weeks. I will not see the psychiatrist's assistant for another two months. This doesn't seem like something to take to my rabbi. I don't even know if this is something I should do something about or something to wait and see or something not to worry about.
Is it just exhaustion? Or side effects of either of my medications? Or have I already crossed the anxiety bridge, missed the red flags again, and started my stay on Depression Island? I can't tell anymore. I only know I want to be quiet and alone and to sleep.
Friday, February 1, 2008
Playing with fire
It is almost Shabbos and I am feeling anxious and disconnected.
I have finally identified the feeling I was trying so hard to name in my post, Seeking. I don't know if it has a name, but it has a description. It is the feeling of being completely, totally vulnerable and knowing, trusting without reservation, that you are loved. No dark secrets, no white lies, no closet skeletons.
It is a type of intimacy but having nothing to do with sex. It is someone seeing every part of me, every secret I want to keep hidden, every action of which I am ashamed, and that someone still loving me, valuing me, unconditionally.
Perhaps that is part of the very nature of our relationship with G-d.
Once I identified this, I had to call D, who thought that this also ought to be the essence of a parent-child relationship and a marriage, though too often it isn't.
I told D that sometimes I have these intense feelings like what I describe above and then there are other times that it is so very hard to feel connected. I said that it is sometimes like a smoldering--I can't bring myself to think that the light ever goes out--and sometimes like a bonfire. When the light is buried, how can I reignite it? And when it consumes me, how do I tame it?
D suggested I go light a fire and see for myself. A fire, I asked? A real fire? D laughed and said I was the one who started the fire analogy in the first place. So I did (outside) and then I called D back with the results.
Paper burns quickly but not for long. Cardboard takes longer to catch but burns longer and each of the layers pulls away from each other. Wood takes the longest to catch but burns the longest. A smoldering requires paper, not wood. A bonfire is tamed by spreading out the wood so it isn't so concentrated.
D said very nice, now finish the analogy. I said paper is only a single layer, cardboard is a few layers, and wood is many layers, very dense. When I'm feeling the smoldering and I want more ignition, I have to add to my life things with only one or a few layers. I can't expect to take on something very layered and dense and have it reignite that fire. And when I'm feeling overwhelmed, too much feeling, too much fire, I have to spread it out, do fewer things, take it slowly, allow more air (oxygen) to tame the burning.
D liked my answer and then asked, what is the paper in your life? What is the cardboard? What is the wood?
Fixing Shabbos dinner for family plus guests is wood, for me. Going to shul and hoping for intense is wood. But the little things, maybe they are paper. Taking a relaxing bath. Using some nice moisturizer on my hands. The little self-care things that are in my anti-anxiety kit. I'm not sure what else.
Cardboard might be listening to music that I can sing and dance along with. Going for a long walk. Getting together with a friend, or a small group of friends.
I will have to think about this more, identify the things that help me feel more connected and happier and less anxious, and figure out which ones are paper and cardboard and wood. Because if I am trying to restart a smoldering ember with a piece of wood, that would explain a lot. And if I am expecting paper to keep the fire going for days or weeks or months, that would explain a lot too.
And I cannot help but wonder if this is the right analogy after all, because if it is, what does it mean in real life, then, to get burned?
I have finally identified the feeling I was trying so hard to name in my post, Seeking. I don't know if it has a name, but it has a description. It is the feeling of being completely, totally vulnerable and knowing, trusting without reservation, that you are loved. No dark secrets, no white lies, no closet skeletons.
It is a type of intimacy but having nothing to do with sex. It is someone seeing every part of me, every secret I want to keep hidden, every action of which I am ashamed, and that someone still loving me, valuing me, unconditionally.
Perhaps that is part of the very nature of our relationship with G-d.
Once I identified this, I had to call D, who thought that this also ought to be the essence of a parent-child relationship and a marriage, though too often it isn't.
I told D that sometimes I have these intense feelings like what I describe above and then there are other times that it is so very hard to feel connected. I said that it is sometimes like a smoldering--I can't bring myself to think that the light ever goes out--and sometimes like a bonfire. When the light is buried, how can I reignite it? And when it consumes me, how do I tame it?
D suggested I go light a fire and see for myself. A fire, I asked? A real fire? D laughed and said I was the one who started the fire analogy in the first place. So I did (outside) and then I called D back with the results.
Paper burns quickly but not for long. Cardboard takes longer to catch but burns longer and each of the layers pulls away from each other. Wood takes the longest to catch but burns the longest. A smoldering requires paper, not wood. A bonfire is tamed by spreading out the wood so it isn't so concentrated.
D said very nice, now finish the analogy. I said paper is only a single layer, cardboard is a few layers, and wood is many layers, very dense. When I'm feeling the smoldering and I want more ignition, I have to add to my life things with only one or a few layers. I can't expect to take on something very layered and dense and have it reignite that fire. And when I'm feeling overwhelmed, too much feeling, too much fire, I have to spread it out, do fewer things, take it slowly, allow more air (oxygen) to tame the burning.
D liked my answer and then asked, what is the paper in your life? What is the cardboard? What is the wood?
Fixing Shabbos dinner for family plus guests is wood, for me. Going to shul and hoping for intense is wood. But the little things, maybe they are paper. Taking a relaxing bath. Using some nice moisturizer on my hands. The little self-care things that are in my anti-anxiety kit. I'm not sure what else.
Cardboard might be listening to music that I can sing and dance along with. Going for a long walk. Getting together with a friend, or a small group of friends.
I will have to think about this more, identify the things that help me feel more connected and happier and less anxious, and figure out which ones are paper and cardboard and wood. Because if I am trying to restart a smoldering ember with a piece of wood, that would explain a lot. And if I am expecting paper to keep the fire going for days or weeks or months, that would explain a lot too.
And I cannot help but wonder if this is the right analogy after all, because if it is, what does it mean in real life, then, to get burned?
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