Pleased with myself

This morning I woke feeling terrible as I had an appointment booked with my therapist/counsellor at 11am and I really didn’t want to go.

I dragged myself out of bed at 8am and took the dog for a walk and then didn’t know what to do with myself while I waited for the time to leave for the appointment. I felt so low and hopeless.

However, I did go to the appointment. I’d been dreading talking through everything with my therapist. I’ve been trying not to cry all week and I knew I’d cry. When I got there I felt awful but as we talked I felt my mood lift – like a cloud dispersing.

Straight after the appointment I decided to make the most of the change in mood, so I went for a swim. On the way back I dropped in at the clinic near my house and booked in with a physio for next week – I need to get my leg sorted so I can run again. I miss running so much. At the moment I can run a short distance about once a week, but right now the back of my knee is sore. I need it fixing.

Taking advantage of my lifted mood this afternoon I helped my daughter move into her new flat. I came home and made myself a nice tea.

I’m currently watching a movie on Netflix.

I never expected today to turn out so well. I woke up feeling so awful. It just goes to show that even if I wake up feeling totally crap the day can still turn out well.

Another day another diagnosis

I went to see the Psychiatrist today and after 14 years of living with Bipolar I he tells me I’ve got Bipolar II. Personally I don’t think I’m either – looking at the DSM criteria I’m in between the two. I have had 5 episodes of depression and in between I’ve possibly been hypomanic at times, but mostly euthymic (normal). I’ve had one episode of full blown mania that came on 10 days after starting Sertraline. I have also had at least 2 very short episodes of probable mania triggered by lack of sleep fixed by taking sufficient Olanzapine to correct my sleep pattern.

Anyway, the Psych wasn’t happy about me being on Fluoxetine, so I’m stopping that, I’m also weaning off Depakote. I’m continuing Olanzapine and starting Lamotrigine. Ho hum.

I’m not bothered about stopping Fluoxetine – my mood is very reactive, making me think I might even be experiencing a mixed episode, so antidepressants are risky. I’ll stick with Olanzapine for now.

Where does my marriage figure in all of this? Inevitably I’m questioning my experience of the past 23 years. Did the emotional abuse I experienced cause the Bipolar? It may have contributed, but I reckon I must have been predisposed to experiencing the drastic mood swings of Bipolar, and my latest episode was fairly predictable to have happened due to all the stress.

Did my Bipolar cause all the problems in our marriage? Was it all my fault? Did I leave because I was hypomanic? No, definitely not. I’d been thinking of leaving for years.

My husband and I both had psychological issues which we brought into the marriage. He blamed my mental health for everything that went wrong and had no insight into his own problems (and still doesn’t).

He had no trust for me or respect.

I think in truth our problems were caused by our incompatibility and there’s no point in me accepting all the responsibility for the death of our marriage. Neither is there any point in me thinking that going back to him will fix me.

I had 4 episodes of depression whilst I was with him and got myself better every time.

A better day

I kept myself busy today.

If I was my normal self today’s activities would have been easy, but in my depressed state everything required extra effort.

I dragged myself out of bed at 8am after lying listening to the radio for an hour – I was actively listening though and not dozing too much.

Then I dragged myself on a 20 minute dog walk and even went swimming before I had breakfast. I’m well proud of myself for that achievement – I swam my usual 50 lengths and even enjoyed it.

Then I walked to Costa to meet friends for coffee – a 15 minute walk each way. Some other friends came round to see me this afternoon.

By 6pm I was exhausted but still had to cook tea for one of my daughters who came round to check up on me, to have tea with me and watch some Netflix.

It’s been a good day.

It was hard to keep going but I’ve done it.

Onwards and upwards and all that.

Let’s see what tomorrow brings.

Keeping on keeping on

As another day draws to a close, it has been another day of swimming through treacle.

Again, my mood has now lifted slightly because it’s evening – although it’s a pleasant relief from the constant negativity, it also gives me a false sense of hope that I’ll wake up feeling normal tomorrow. There’s very little chance of that just yet.

I’ve got a cancellation appointment with a psychiatrist on Thursday so at least I’ll get my meds reviewed.

God I hate depression. I’ve withdrawn from everything. I’m finding it hard to leave the house. I’m pleased with myself that I managed a 5k run with the dog this evening though. Weirdly, even when I’m overcome with paranoia and agoraphobia I can still manage to go for a run – I think it’s because when you’re out running even if you see someone you know who might normally try to speak to you, if you’re running they usually just shout ‘hi’ or wave – you don’t have to stop and speak to people.

I managed to phone the pensions people again this afternoon for the 6th time to try and chase up my CETV (Certificate of Estimated Transfer Value) which is needed for the divorce settlement. I’ve been waiting for it for >3 months now. I’m sure the feeling of being in limbo caused by the divorce has been the main trigger for my depression – as well as the aftermath of leaving my husband and the realisation of just what I had put up with for too many years, also the loneliness and the changes in my job.

Nothing has been consistent or constant in my life for more than 6 months.

But when you’re at the bottom of the well, the only way is up. I will climb out again

one step at a time.

The black dog returned

I haven’t written anything for quite a while. The reason is that I’ve become depressed again. It’s the 5th time in 22 years.

One of the last things my Psychiatrist said to me before he took early retirement 8 years ago was to avoid stress. Well, I guess over the past 6 months I have just loaded on the stress – left my husband, bought a house, went through major changes at work. In that time I lost my routine and any sense of stability I had.

My mood has been continually up and down for months and from everything I’ve read and all the other divorced friends I’ve spoken to that’s completely normal, but just at the moment there’s a lot more down than up. And when you’ve got a bipolar brain the mood swings are exaggerated.

I went away last week with my 2 younger daughters – I managed to pull myself out of the worst depths of the depression in that week by being with them 24 hours a day, walking miles and swimming every day.

But now I’m home reality has kicked back in and I realised this morning that I don’t have the confidence to return to work next week. I couldn’t find the energy to walk half a mile up the road to go swimming, even going to the shop was hard – and that’s even nearer.

So, I’ve been to the doctor and got myself on Prozac again (I’ve had it

twice before – it worked the first time, but not the second). I’ve had several SSRIs over the years. I was on mirtazapine the week before last but that made me feel dreadful. I stopped it after 7 days.

I’ve got proper bipolar depression with diurnal mood variation – I feel better this evening which is why I’m managing to write this.

I know what to do to fight it – been there, done that, got several T shirts. I have to remember that negative thoughts are just thoughts, I need stimulation – as much as possible, routine, good food and activity. I have therefore borrowed the dog even though it’s not my week to have him. I’m signed off work for 4 weeks.

I will get through this.

Up and down

I feel so peculiar this week. My thoughts are screaming inside my head – ruminations going round and round and getting nowhere. I go from feeling hopeful and excited for my future to feeling hopeless. Most of the time I’m just about managing to keep my head above water so I don’t drown.

My youngest daughter is with her dad this week and I’m missing her like crazy.

But I’ve got lots of stuff planned with my new friends on Thursday and my 20 year old daughter is coming to see me on Wednesday.

I’ve spoken to so many women who tell me it’s normal to feel like this and that it gets better with time.

I’m just impatient. I want to feel better.

I got a letter from my divorce solicitor yesterday that made me upset – she’s sent me a letter to chase up where I’m up to with my cash equivalent transfer value statement for my pension. The pension people have told me it’ll be about another 2 weeks before I get it. I don’t want to reply to my solicitor just to tell her that I haven’t got anything for her yet because she’ll charge me just under 20 quid for the privilege of replying to her. I wonder how it feels to exploit other people’s misery for money.

I feel like I’m in limbo. I can’t move on with my life. Every so often I fantasise about dating but if I do I’ll have to keep it secret from my kids and my ex – if he found out he’d see it as the ultimate proof of what he’d always suspected me of. I’m not sure my kids are ready for anyone new in their lives, especially my youngest. I’m not sure I’m ready.

I don’t feel I can get involved with anyone else yet. I still feel loyalty towards my ex – why? I have no idea. I owe him nothing. I told my therapist last week that I feel like when I left him six months ago, after 24hrs or so it felt like I’d left a hostage situation. I feel like I should have been welcomed by friends and family with a blanket placed round my shoulders. But no-one knew what I’d been through – I’d hidden it so well for so many years. Let’s face it, I’d even hidden it from myself. No wonder it’s taking me so long to unravel it all.

Slowly getting used to my new life

It’s dawned on me that the one thing I can’t get used to in the new version of my life is how simple my life has become.

Most days I get up, get dressed, get just my own breakfast, read my own newspaper and go to work. I rarely have to go and do a big supermarket shop. I can do what I want when I want.

It’s totally alien to me.

For the last 23 years I have been putting other people first, mostly my ex. His needs trumped everyone else’s.

I had a bit of a wobble at work today. I burst out crying when talking to 2 of my colleagues about the past 5 months but I’ve been ok since.

This afternoon I came home and put up a curtain rail and curtains all by myself. I’m pretty damned proud of myself too.

I’m going out for tea with friends this evening. Because I can.

Stuck in a rut

I’ve been struggling with intrusive thoughts about my ex – feeling low and crazily thinking that if I just begged him to have me back that would fix everything. Obviously my logical head knows this is completely barmy thinking. I realise I’m going through a bereavement process and I desperately need to move on to acceptance.

I’d noticed that when I think of bad memories of our time together it makes me feel better about the now – less anxious and lonely.

I came across some research from the University of Ohio which supports this – see screenshot of the final paragraph below. So, I think I have to think about my relationship with him in a negatively valenced way, presumably as frequently as possible, and my brain will adjust.

I have to keep reminding myself of the bad times, preferably several times a day.

I have to remember the awful trip to the beach with our children and grandchildren, my nephew’s wedding, my 50th birthday, Christmas Day, the day he got so drunk years ago when he fell on the way home from our friends’ house in front of his small children and then pulled the curtain rail down in the bedroom, my daughter’s graduation, all the times he called me a child, a baby, pathetic, all the really hurtful things he said over the years, the number of times I cried and cried uncontrollably. The times he threw things and broke things, the way he made out it was my fault he did those things because I made him feel frustrated. The times he shouted that I was a fucking bitch, and that final insult – not a fucking normal human.

I never used to cry before I met him. I was a happy person. I was outgoing.

He does not deserve my guilt about leaving or my pity. I am worth more than this.

Get a grip

A note to myself:

Stop missing him. He abused you. He did not trust or respect you. Get a grip woman. Move on. Stop missing him. He is not the man your brain is currently trying to convince you that he is. You deserve better.