I Was Going to Fold Laundry...

...but then this giant cat came and sat in my lap. And so I'm stuck at my computer. Nothing is really going on at any of my usual haunts so I thought I'd write a blog. The problem being, that I don;t really have anything to say, which is why I didn't write one earlier.

Things that have been on my mind:

Is this med increase working for me? The last time I saw my Psychiatrist he increased one of my antidepressants from 25mg a day to 30mg a day (the maximum dose). It's been about two weeks now and I think I'm seeing some improvement in my mood. Not a lot, but some. The positive: I am interacting with people and look forward to getting out of bed every day. The negative: The people I am interacting with are all on the 'net, not in my everyday life. Virtual people, virtual life. It's not like I can actually go out and get a cup of coffee with any of them, as the closest lives in Denver (and I haven't heard from her in about a month, maybe more). So while this interaction is making me look forward to getting out of bed int he mornings, I wonder if it's really what my pdoc had in mind. Sometimes I wonder if it's what I had in mind. I'd like to have a real life, not just a virtual one. I'd like there to be non-computer things that I enjoy doing. but out of the security of my office, everything still causes me extreme anxiety. I have to get M. to help me cook. I can't leave the house without him, even. In fact, the other day was so bad that I couldn't leave the house even to go grocery shopping, which I usually manage every week. I had to send M. out for the week's supplies, which I felt really bad about. So no, I don't think this med change is really working. Not the way I had hoped it would.

I wonder what would bring my life back? I wonder when I will be able to read a book again, much less play my flute or dance or do any of the things I could do before I was on so much medication. The days when I thought I was a "normal" person and the times that I now know were periods of hypomania--those times of intense action and creativity that fell between my increasingly terrible and frequent times of depression--were just the way a "normal" person felt. I know now why a classic...symptom? Reaction? anyway, why Bipolar people so often go off their meds. The mood stabilizers work, of yes they do. But are they worth this flatness? This incapacity to function in even the most basic ways?

Well, when I was extremely depressed there at the end (before my diagnosis) I wasn't functional either. So it's not much of a change. Except, at least I could read. I miss that quite a lot. Now I can't even concentrate on a graphic novel.

And that's why so many of these blogs do not so much finish as end, like a dangling phrase. I lose my concentration. I forget what I was going to say. I am forgetting now. And the cat has left so I have no excuse not to go fold the laundry anymore, except that I really don't feel much like doing it.

But I don't feel like doing much of anything in my life.

I wonder if I ever will again.

Today

I'm actually doing all right today, all things considering.

Last night I was terrified. You see, today is the day M. had to go to the city to take the Praxis test, which is kind of like a big honking SAT for people wanting to go into education. And I knew I wouldn't be able to reach him if something happened.

So what if something really did happen? What if I had a heart attack or an embolism or something? (Having an embolism is my big fear these days, especially since I've been spending so much time sitting at my computer.) What if I had a plain old anxiety attack and had no way to reach him to talk me through it? He assured me I could call his parents, but I never feel comfortable with that. I know they love me and all, but discussing my problems is never easy, even with people I'm very close to (strange, as I have no problem at all writing about them here!)

Well, I'm pleased to say this day has gone fairly well. If, of course, you leave out the fact that the cats woke me up at six a.m. and I couldn't get back to sleep. They had decided to spazz out on the bed and dig under the blankets around my legs and stuff like that. No amount of shooing them away or even squirting them with the water bottle could get them to stop. So Ifinally just got up.

But other than being tired, I feel pretty good.

That, I suppose, is to be expected. Yesterday I had one of those days when I was so out of it I couldn't even get dressed. Often after a day like that I find I am able to motivate myself better. I even had a shower. And I am, suprisingly, not freaking out about anything. I'm glad about that.

Tonight we're sending out for pizza. I'm looking forward to that. Maybe the looking forward to something is all I need to make me feel better. I'm glad there's something in my life to look forward to, though I feel bad sometimes that the the only thing I seem to look forward to is special food. Oh well.

Now I'm hungry and though it's quite early I think I'll have lunch.

Boring blog, I know. But I'm glad to be having a calm, uneventful day for once.

Frozen

It happens every morning about this time: the anxiety. The shaking, the sweating palms, the nausea. Feeling as if I'm about to die. Sometimes it's so bad I have to call someone, usually M., to talk me through it.

Deer in the headlights. Waiting for the crash.

I don't know what causes it or why I get it this time of morning, always. I have some ideas. The thought of getting dressed and facing the world overwhelms me. The thought of one more day I have to get through.

Maybe it would be better if I could do something about it: scream, cry, I don't know. But I can't. I am frozen in this place.

It's not that I don't feel the urge to scream or cry. I often do. But something--my meds maybe, no: almost certainly--keep me from being able to. Not even when I try to make myself. All I can feel these days is the anxiety interspersed with boredom. My own pain is uninteresting to me.

I remember the days when I used to cry at the drop of a hat. Not only when I was depressed, though there was plenty of that. But at anything: at sappy movies, at sad songs. Now movies are only something to keep my attention occupied for a little while and music is a background to some of my activities, not something I feel and connect with.

I never thought I would long for the crying days. The times when I felt so bad I would scratch my arms until they bled because it was less painful than what I was going through inside and cry until my eyes had the scratchy feel of sandpaper. "Getting hysterical" is what I called it, though I think that was probably an understatement. But to a person to whom some kind of self-expression, even the expression of pain or self-hatred, has always been valuable, not being to express what I am feeling is the worst kind of hell.

Even in earlier parts of this blog, I see I could still cry.

Events make it through to me. When we lost Gwion Bach, I cried. But since then, nothing. No tears. No rage. No joy or laughter. I am stuck in this grey place, where the skies are broken only by the lightning of my intense anxiety.

Maybe I should be thankful I can feel that. Because otherwise I am just frozen.

And I don't know how to thaw out, or if I ever will.

Very Random Thoughts

Still can't access the e-mail from my website. Don't know what's up with that. I wonder if I can e-mail yahoo and ask them about it.

Umm...yeah. Trying to find the blog entry where I talked about June 2nd 1977 and I can't! A friend reminded me of it.

already getting Christmas stuff in my e-mail. "Buy this! Give these special gifts!" The way our financial situation is this year I think we'll be lucky if we can have our goose.

Halfway through my sabbatical from Whiskey in the Jar. I think I'll be ready to go back when it ends but I'm not sure.

I went back and read some more of my old blogs and realised I have been doing this a lot longer than I thought.

Finally wrote to my mother yesterday. It was hard to keep it upbeat. I mean, for a Bipolar person in the midst of depression, a cheery note isn't always possible. But I tried hard. I think I did okay.

I wonder if I want my lunch now?

Interwebz Junkie

It was working fine this morning. My internet. I got to sign in as I usually do, check my e-mail and the forums I follow, and Facebook, of course. I made it just a quick check as I wanted to do some other things today.

Then I had my breakfast and my usual morning anxiety attack started. So I thought, "I'll just sign in for a little while until I calm down."

The first sign that something was dreadfully wrong was that I noticed my cell phone had no signal. I queried M.; his didn't either. At that point, we both tried to sign on the 'net again. And it was completely down. error messages on every page. No forums, no e-mail, no Facebook--nothing.

My palms began to sweat. My breathing got heavier and heavier. I felt distinctly in pain, all over my body. All the symptoms of withdrawal from some terribly addictive drug: I had them. "Fine," I thought, "we have to go to the grocery store anyway. I'll get dressed."

Somehow I managed it despite the rising tide of fear that I was cut completely off from the world. That's when the knife cut deeper. We're on food stamps and these days your food stamp balance is carried on a little plastic card much like a credit card. Just to make sure--not that we thought the problem would reach so far, but just to be sure--we called the store, which is ten miles down the road. Nope, they told us; their card readers weren't working. This problem was all over the valley, it seemed.

My sweating became heavier at this point. The whole valley cut off from the outside world, as in some post-apocalyptic nightmare?

I had never really considered how much I rely on my computer internet connection to get me through my day. Nor had I really thought much of what would happen if we no longer had 'net access--not just in my house, but all over the place. I finally understand the people who were so upset over the Y2K scare. It could happen. For a while, here, it did happen.

We learned later, when M. took our last $20 down to the store to buy potatoes for tonight's stew, that someone had busted a fiber-optic cable somewhere and that's why the phones and the internet were both involved. The initial estimate was two hours to fix it. It took something more like eight. But what if it had been an insoluble problem?

I suppose this is the main reason people go wireless. My in-laws had internet all day. I actually had thoughts of going over to their house and booting them off their system so I could get access. Which just shows what lengths a junkie will go to to get a fix.

So, I admit it: I am an internet junkie. Without my connection I am lost.

I suppose there are worse things I could be.

And I Thought My Space Was Addictive...

I have recently discovered Facebook.

That says it all, really.

It happened like this: Around this time of year, I always get really nostalgic because a lot of the old friends I've lost track of for so many years have birthdays around this time. So I naturally start to look them up on the internet. Well, after many years of searching, I finally located one--not on Facebook, but on another site. I asked how he was doing and he said, "Look me up on Facebook."

So I had to go get an account.

On Facebook I have located old friends and had old friends locate me. I have linked up with friends from other websites and forums and found support groups and causes. I have started a farm. I have sent hatching eggs and saved the rainforest. I have a number of pets. I have played games and won many wars (and lost a few, but that's how it goes, I guess.)

Where is this leading? You guessed it--I am currently spending hours and hours out of my day on Facebook attending to all the things I need to attend to. Kidnapping people. Hitting them with pillows. Training my virtual puppy. You know, important stuff like that.

There is an upside and a downside to all this. The upside: well, locating those old friends, of course. And since discovering Facebook I have been less depressed. It's something I like to do, which had been missing from my life. in fact, I think it has sent me into a mild hypomania, which is not at all a bad state to be in for one who has been as low as I have been in the past months.

The downside: You can see it, can't you? Spending all my time on the computer on a virtual friendship site is not helping me get out of the house. Or attend to the other things that need attending to in my life. The daily things, like, oh, getting dressed, for example. Today, it was noon before I could tear myself away long enough to get breakfast and my meds down my throat. Even now I am worried that I am missing something.

Fortunately this is not really interfering with the main relationship in my life, because M. is just as obsessed with Facebook as I am. We spend a lot of time on our respective computers, kidnapping each other and giving each other virtual kisses. This is good, right? Maybe. It's a shared interest, anyway. It's something I can answer when M. asks me "is there anything you feel like doing." Too much in the last months the answer to that question has been, "No, nothing."

I shudder to think what my psychiatrist would say about all this.

My therapist, on the other hand, thinks it's a good thing for me to be connecting with people, even in a virtual way. She's especially pleased about my finding old friends who have validated the reality of my past experiences.

Well, I'm off now. No, really: I'm going to do laundry. Honestly.

But I may just check in to Facebook first.

For a little while...

Close Encounter

So, M. and I stopped at the local coffee shop for a latte before my therapy appointment. While we were standing at the counter, there came from behind us the sound of the door opening and closing. Naturally, we both turned to look at the new arrival. And who should it be but the Toxic One?

We both turned back around and put our backs to her without further eye contact or comment. M. moved to the "pick up" counter while I went further into the shop. Then I knew I couldn't stay there any more with her there. So I told M. that I was going across the street (to my therapist's office) and asked him please to bring my coffee to me there, which he said he would do.

I had not been in that close proximity to the T.O. in six years. That's how long it's been since the badness between us went down, but I still feel embittered by it. I took one look at her and just thought, "That's an ugly person." I feel it right down to my toes, like I've been bathed in slick black crude oil or some other nasty goo.

I think I need to be smudged.

I discussed this experience with my therapist, of course. She said I should be proud of myself for allowing myself to have my true feelings about the situation and setting good boundaries: i.e., extricating myself. And maybe she's right about that. Okay, yeah; she's right about that. I've wasted too much time and energy making excuses and feeling bad and taking the blame for what happened between us on myself.

But is it really okay to judge? I don't believe it is. I have spent a lot of time and energy learning compassion too, and forgiveness. So why can't I forgive this person and move on? I thought until today that I had: that I had forgiven her but just didn't want her in my life anymore. Now I don't think that's true. I don't know if I can ever forgive her for what she put me through in the three years we were really close, in the ill-fated band.

I do know she was my friend, it seemed, and now she's not. And that's a grief to me. After the hostility and the lies and the failure to communicate, why is that? Why can't I just let it go?

I have a headache now and feel sick at my stomach. I have no answers, only more and more questions. The vision of her standing there in the shop doors is frozen in my brain and I think that brief second in time is also something I will never be able to put away. The moment I said, "This is an ugly person."

This was the real end.