Working Through Complicated Emotions

europe-after-storm

Over the horrible suicidal hump again.. It always ends, but in those moments, I’m worthless. I hate how it’s never the same. It’s never after a ‘high’ or a specific time of the month, it never comes at opportune moments when I don’t have 1000 things going on, and it never lasts the same amount of time. It’s unpredictable.

But now I’m over that hump, and I’m “fine”.. if I person like me can be fine. I’m training, I’m working, I’m cleaning, and I’m focusing on the things that make me happy and feel like I have a reason.

I wish there was a pill I could take that would get rid of the lows while I could still feel the highs. But it doesn’t work like that. I have to suck up, buck up and bear it. And in those moments, I am at my most raw, vulnerable state. I focus on every negative thing that is happening, and I can’t see how much people care about me. I only focus on hurting. It’s blinding, I feel like I can’t breathe. Like there’s a weight on my chest and it’s going to crush me at any moment.

My newest dog helped me quite a bit this time by giving me the support I needed to work through the panic, the pain, and the feeling of being totally lost. The last time I felt like this was almost 5 years ago. It hasn’t been this intense in so, so long. I forgot how powerful this feeling is and how much it hurts. Last time, I didn’t call anyone. I just did it. This time, I called my mom.

then-it-hits-youI got news my divorce was final. I was already overwhelmed, depressed, stressed, and anxious. And then I got that email. It floored me. So many complicated emotions. I couldn’t handle it. I called my mom, and had a panic attack on the phone. I grabbed my dog and she stayed on the phone with me the whole time while I thrashed around and screamed and cried and held Thorin. He just laid there and let me grab him, and thrash, and he handled it. My mom stayed on the phone with me the whole time. I was in the ‘red zone’. The most dangerous place to be mentally. This time, I asked for help. I couldn’t function, I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t work. My mom was there for me the whole time and didn’t leave my side once. I vented and cried and screamed and let her see me at my worst. It’s been a very long time since I’ve been in this place. And fuck, I was wishing so badly a jet engine would fall on my house and crush me. I wanted my house to spontaneously combust or fall into the Earth and take me with it. I just wanted to end the horrible feeling.

After the feeling of utter helplessless, I feel nothing. It may take a few days to get to that point, but then I can’t feel anything. Usually after that, I have deep gratitude for everything and everyone in my life who make me a better person. My mom is a big one. I hope she realizes how much she means to me, and if not, I hope I can show her. She drove all the way to my house that day. And then left at midnight, with an hour and a 1/2 drive home. Then, came out to me the next morning to be with me. To watch me, to protect me. To be there for me when I really needed someone. She was there. I hope I can be there for her as much as she’s been there for me.

I know quite a few people with mental illnesses, disorders, or depression. It seems these people have a trend. We feel everything. And we feel it so incredibly deeply. When we feel sad, we feel our world is being torn apart. When we are happy, we feel joyful and like we can take on anything. When we get hurt, we want to die. When our heart breaks, it’s exemplified to the point where we don’t ever want to feel again. It hurts too much. When we love, we love with all our heart. We would give everything to the people we love. We would do anything for them.

As for the feelings about my divorce… I’m still sorting through them. When I feel I can accurately describe this, I will share. I can’t today.

What’s the point?

All those times of I said my life was getting better, I was manic. Feeling great. The higher they go, the harder I fall. I want to die now. I want to rip my heart of my chest and throw it in the garbage disposal. It hurts. Everything hurts. I hate my heart. I hate the way it makes me feel. It tricks me. I don’t know what to feel anymore.  I’m so stupid to get caught in the same traps over and over again. It’s the same shit it always is.

The 15 cognitive distortions, and their definitions. The links below also talk more about each disorder. When dealing with a mental illness. I do all of them, but the ones I seem to always fall back on are:

Emotional reasoning
Mind Reading
Mental Filter
All or Nothing Thinking

I’ve talked about Emma before, and I’ve recently seen her again. A lot lately.

I hurt so much. It seems like no one understands what this is like. I can’t talk to ANYONE who understands. I want to scream and self mutilate. I want to cut and bleed and feel real pain. I want to feel something other than emotional pain. Physical pain is a release. Death is a blessing.

I hate it. I hate feeling. Drug me or kill me. I can’t do it anymore. Once again, I can’t do it anymore.  I would rather be dead than feel the way I feel.

I put on the face. I pretend. I smile, it’s fake. “You ok?” “Sure. Yeah. I’m fine.” I play the part, I do my job the best I can. When I’m alone, I cry and panic and think about cutting and dying and ending the pain.

But somehow I don’t do it, and I get up in a huge mess and do it all over again. I torture myself by being alive. What’s the fucking point?! What is the end goal? Do I even have one? No. I don’t have an end goal. Because the end is to die. What is the point?Strong

My Heart Bleeds

I’m down already. Stop kicking me. My spirit is already broken. Stop. Just stop. I am not the rock I usually am. I am broken. There are cracks and I’m crumbling.

Stop. My heart bleeds. It hurts. Physical pain always accompanies severe depression. I hurt everywhere. Every muscle in my back, my shoulders, my neck… my heart. Everything hurts.
Let me stand up before you beat me down once more.

Stop. Just long enough for me to put myself back together again. Let me sew up the wounds before you pour the salt on again. Let the wound scab so you can peel it off and make a bigger scar. A scar that no one will see. It rips through my whole body. I won’t be the same after I heal. There will always be a chasm. There will always be the scar of this loss.

I can’t cry anymore. The tears won’t come. Whether I’m dehydrated or if I just don’t have the will anymore, I can’t cry. My tear streaked face and my crushed heart. This is me. In all my entirety. Insecure. Vulnerable.

A thousand stab wounds to the chest would hurt less than this. Physical pain is a tiny relief to the mental pain I feel now. All the strong emotions I sometimes think I have are gone. I’m exposed. Unprotected. Totally unshielded.

I want it to end. I want to cease to exist. I want to disappear. Make it stop. Make these feelings stop. It hurts so much. And I have to do this alone. No one can take this pain from me. I have to face this alone. I can have support. But this is on me. It’s agony to be alive. I deserve this feeling. This feeling of wanting to die. I want to die.

Take the pain. Kill me.

Drowning with Demons

heather_hamilton_bipolar_depression_suicideIt’s a web of feelings you can’t understand unless you have gone through a period where you felt the feeling of complete sadness, despair and loneliness. Sometimes, this onsets for no reason at all. Other times, it’s because of a trauma, an event, or stress. It feels like dying is less painful than being alive. You wish for death to end the suffering. To end the pain. To stop feeling so damn awful.

Physical pain sometimes accompanies the mental anguish. But the physical side is nothing compared to what this level of depression feels like. Pain feels good. This hurts worse than any cut, bruise, bite, or broken bone. It’s like your heart is dead. To feel any physical pain is relieving. For just a moment, you don’t have to feel the inside pain.

Crying is a sign there is still hope to climb out of this hell hole. Crying means you’re still in there … somewhere. I’ve been crying. That means I’m healing. It’s an outlet. Crying is an outlet of all the energy my body can’t handle anymore. Panic stricken attacks, hyperventilation and crying release some of the tension inside my body. And I feel a little better.

depression_drowning_bipolar_suicideScreams rip through my body while I writhe around, hoping all the pain and hurt I feel will disappear. So much hurt, so much pain. Letting it out is sometimes the hardest thing you can do, but letting it go eventually will feel better.

Sleep comes and will overtake your sore and exhausted body. I dread sleep when I am in these state of minds. Dreams invade my sleep, and usually they aren’t good. I tried turning off the dreams using drugs before, but then I just dealt with the demons. Since I don’t take the drugs anymore, I don’t see the demons… most of the time. When I am in a deep depression, I do see them. I hear them. They talk about me. They torture me. If I don’t move, if I stay still, they don’t bother me. If I get up, adjust my body position, breathe too loud, or talk to them, they assault me with their whispers.

It feels like this will never end. But it’s happened before, I know I’ll get over it. Logically, I know. But inside, I never know how much I can take. I’m drowning again.

Shattered Broken Strong

I'm Heart BrokenA world turned upside down.

Everything I have worked for, dissolved. Gone in just one decision.

Plans made, and disappeared.

Dreams shattered. Steps taken back.

Decisions, so many decisions. Make them stop. Just make them for me.

Overwhelmed. Too many feelings. Drug me so I can’t feel them. I can’t take any more.  Make this go away. I don’t care if I’m numb. I don’t need feelings anyway. Lithium, take over from here.

Depressing thoughts accompany me. Envelope me. Feelings of self despair and hate. It’s my fault. I did this. I could have stopped this.

Thoughts of the end start to appear. Myemotional side fighting my logical side.

“You’re strong…” “It wouldn’t take much. Just do it.” “It’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” “Just the thought makes me feel better.” “Stand up, you can do it.” “Just go to sleep, don’t wake up and you won’t feel anything” “There is light at the end, I promise”

STOP fighting. It’s exhausting. I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t move.

I stand up, and start again. And I fall again. I can’t seem to keep my balance. I’ll just stay down.

I’m going against the grain already. I’m being pushed back, and I don’t have the strength to stand up again. Just let me lie here. Just for a while. Let me rest and just absorb the punches for a minute.

Don’t ask if I’m alright. I’m not. But then, I have to be. People count on me. Why? What do I have that can help them? There isn’t anything here, move on to the next person. I’m all out of things I can give people. I’m exhausted, drained. Out of service. Go somewhere else.

Vulnerable

brickwallYou know the feeling of mentally drowning? The feeling of the world pressing down on you so much that it makes you feel so small, unimportant, and helpless?

Ok, maybe some of you don’t. This feeling makes me feel like it’s better for the world if I just cease to exist. It has been a while since I have thought about suicide.

Well, that feeling came back again today. And thoughts of my own demise comforted me. It’s like a security blanket, that when the world suffocates me, I at least have these feelings of release. An out, if you will.

I can’t seem to not cry. I can’t stop. The tears fall, and the thoughts start up again. And because my spouse doesn’t understand the feeling of having the comforting feeling of suicide, he says I’m selfish for thinking that way. Now making me feel guilty, once again. It’s not his fault. But… I don’t have anyone else.

It seems easier to not say anything at all.

I’m not judged. I die inside silently where no one can see. Sometimes, I feel so brave to ask for help, to talk about my emotions and expose a vulnerable part of me. And it seems, all too often, I’m poked with an electric stick and I regret talking at all.

This stems from mistakes that were made. Mistakes that were my fault solely. I take responsibility for my actions, I always have. However, I also take on more than I handle. This isn’t the first time, and it isn’t the last. This is a mistake I will continue to make. Because I challenge myself. Sometimes, I put myself in positions where I set myself up to fail. This is one of those times.

When I make a mistake, I can admit it, and I can learn from it. When I make a bunch of mistakes all around the same time, or on the same day, it builds up. I wish it would go away, and I could crawl in a hole and just have the world pass me by.

But I can’t, and it doesn’t stop. It seems I finally get into a mental state of ‘peace’ or whatever, and then one thing happens, then another. I’m overwhelmed, then I make a mistake. All the problems are unrelated, but in turn – they are related. And all of a sudden, my mental state crumbles and the brick wall protecting me is gone.

I’m a snail without its shell, and I’m sitting in the sun, baking. Can’t get into the grass, and can’t protect myself. Someone has to come save me or I will die.

I think it’s time to call my therapist again. I’m sinking back into the darkness. Again, and the nightmares started again last night.  No sleep. No dreams, just the demon. Back again from the graveyard of my mind. I thought I had buried that guilt so far into my mind that I wouldn’t see him again.

If I could take a vacation, I wouldn’t use it to travel or to do something fun. I would use it to take care of myself, and go to a mental institution to have someone fix the way I think.

Is that possible? To have someone just get in there, pop the hood, and change the oil? … in a brain? I hope so… because mentally, I’m done. I’m just going to let the thoughts of suicide comfort me for now. I’ll let the tears fall, and have some of myself die in the process.

I’m surprised I have any pieces left. I should just be an empty shell of a person by now.

My Bloody Valentine

Valentine’s Week is always difficult for me. I had a friend in high school commit suicide during this time, and no matter how hard I try, I still think about how I felt when I heard the news. I thought it was a mistake. I thought they had the name wrong. I was in college and he was still in high school. I graduated early from high school, so I left my friends behind, as I ventured on to further my education. When I heard the news, I immediately thought I wasn’t a good enough friend. He didn’t feel he could talk to me about his feelings. Then, at the funeral, my friends and I were discussing his life, and the subject of murder came up. They believed he didn’t commit suicide, but he was murdered, or at least it was an assisted suicide. I think this is how we dealt with our grief at the time.

We looked over at his parents, and 1962000_0024some of my friends blamed them for what happened. They said they didn’t love him, and they were horrible parents. At the time, I didn’t doubt my friends, and I couldn’t hide my pain. I believed he was murdered. We speculated who could have done it, and how the parents kept popping up on our suspect list. This is how we handled the pain, the confusion, and the sting of betrayal. Now that I am older, I know they weren’t bad parents. They were just as distraught as the rest of us. We all had to deal with our grief in different ways.

I could talk about my friend’s life, and how much fun I had with him. I could talk about how he was always there when you needed him. I could say how he always used to snap his fingers in class and when he walked down the hallways. He always seemed to be happy. But I know better now; he wasn’t happy. For someone to take their own life, they have to be in a place of suffocating darkness. A place where your own thoughts can’t even penetrate the shadows. I know. Because I’ve been there, and wished it would end so many times. Thinking about how other people would feel if I died – that thought didn’t make it through to me until I came out of the darkness and started to breathe again. Knowing how that feels, I can say he’s not a coward or a selfish person. He was just dealing with the pain. He couldn’t handle it anymore. And for that, I wish I was a better friend. I wish I had noticed how much he was hurting. I wish I had asked how he was doing – or just shown that I could be there for him when he needed me.

So, I regret how I wasn’t a good enough person, or a loyal enough friend. And come Valentine’s week, I can’t seem to stop thinking about this. Not an obsessive thought, just a thought in the back of my mind that makes me want to be a better person to everyone in my life now. To all my friends and family, you can talk to me about anything you need, and know I will listen. I will try to help. If I can’t help, I’ll just walk with you for however long you need someone with you. I can do that..maybe.